


Sick Day

by chilly_flame



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-24
Updated: 2010-12-27
Packaged: 2018-01-01 04:08:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 33,117
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1040162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/chilly_flame/pseuds/chilly_flame
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Miranda gets sick; Andy comes to the rescue. Things progress from there. This is a 2010 import from livejournal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Sick Day

**Author's Note:**

> This was a series of eight short stories that turned into a complete work over the course of eight months. It was based on a single prompt from the most excellent pin_drop: laryngitis. From there, it turned into much more. Credit to my ever present beta Xander, who stuck it out through all the hemming and hawing over this one!

 

\---

Andy has to lean close to Miranda to hear what she’s saying. She doesn’t ask what’s wrong, and she doesn’t ask Miranda to repeat herself even though she’s not sure what that last request was.

Miranda seems to sense her uncertainty. “No Starbucks,” Miranda says more clearly, her voice rough and strange. She looks as if she’s in pain.

Andy frowns. “Oh,” she says, instead of what she wants to say, which is, “What’s wrong?”

“No calls. No meetings either,” Miranda says, swallowing slowly, and now Andy is certain she’s in pain. “None, is that clear?” What follows is a fit of coughing that makes Andy incredibly nervous. Miranda’s face turns red as her body convulses. When she is finally able to catch her breath, Andy realizes that hidden beneath Miranda’s typically flawless makeup are signs of exhaustion. Her eyes are glassy.

“You’re sick,” Andy blurts, and this time, she doesn’t regret her loose tongue.

Miranda glares, but there’s no bite to it. “I am not.”

“You should go home, Miranda. Today’s quiet. We’ll be okay without you. Otherwise you’ll just make it worse for yourself, and who knows, I could pick it up, or Emily, or Nigel—“

Miranda makes a wild motion with her arm, and Andy interprets its meaning as, “Shut up immediately.” Andy does. Then Miranda waves her hand in a flutter, as if to brush Andy out of the room.

Andy lifts an eyebrow. “Telling me to go away isn’t going to make you feel better.”

“I beg to differ,” Miranda says. Now that Andy knows what’s up, she can see how hard it is for Miranda to speak. Her throat is clearly sore, and the very edges of her nose are red. Andy sympathizes, but she’s still irritated. Miranda should know better than anyone that coming to work sick is a mistake. If Andy gets sick, she’s staying home no matter how much Emily complains, no matter how many times Miranda calls her and bitches her out.

“Whatever,” Andy mutters, and just before she turns to go, she catches Miranda’s faint expression of surprise.

\---

An hour goes by. Miranda keeps her coughing to a minimum, but eventually Andy makes a decision. When Emily returns from Hermes, Andy explains Miranda’s “no meetings” decree. Though Emily is confused, she does not question it.

“I’ll be back in half an hour. Need a bathroom break?” Andy asks.

“Oh please, as though you care.” Andy waits for the real answer, which arrives a few seconds later. “No.”

“You’re welcome,” Andy says, and she sails down the hall toward the elevator.

Thirty minutes later, she returns carrying a rumpled brown bag. It contains almonds, honey, Egyptian licorice tea, cider vinegar, Tylenol, lemons, cough drops, and best of all, salt. If she knows Miranda, she hasn’t taken anything at all to help soothe her sickness. She’d rather suffer through it, unlike other lowly human beings who have to rely on pharmaceuticals or homeopathic remedies to ease symptoms.

Andy will have none of that. She breezes past Emily, bag in hand. “So, hi,” Andy says, kicking the office door closed. “We’ve got lots of choices, but I think we should hit the bathroom first. A little salt water’s going to do wonders for your throat. Ready?”

“Excuse me?” Miranda says. She winces.

Andy rolls her eyes. “Nobody likes a whiner, but nobody likes a martyr, either. Come on.” Against the instincts that have kept her employed for more than a year, she leans down and takes hold of Miranda’s arm, pulling her up and out of her chair. Miranda sputters in protest, but Andy ignores her. “Come on,” Andy repeats, leading Miranda past a wide-eyed Emily toward the executive washroom.

No one is inside, thankfully, and Andy removes the most important purchase from the bag. “The best thing is salt, definitely. I want you to gargle. Warm water, not hot.” Andy runs the water in the sink, pretending Miranda isn’t mortified by the thought of drinking New York’s finest straight from the tap. “Don’t worry, you’re not going to swallow it.” Andy makes up her concoction of water and good old Morton’s salt. After a quick stir, she hands it over. “Now gargle.”

Miranda purses her lips.

“You have had a sore throat before, right?” Miranda doesn’t say a word. “You have two kids. You have to know that this is the best remedy, at least in the short term.” Andy waits a little longer. “Seriously, you’re going to gargle this even if I have to force you, Miranda.”

Andy neglects to mention that knowing Miranda is in pain is tearing her up inside, so this is going to be good for the both of them. Miranda is notorious for not taking care of herself, and Andy will combat that bull-headedness no matter what the consequences.

“Force me?” Miranda says. There is an element of menace to her tone.

Andy narrows her gaze. She’s been practicing this look in the mirror at home, mostly to use against Emily, but it comes in handy now. “That’s a nice shirt you’re wearing. Wouldn’t want to have to get it all wet.”

The tension is strung tight between them. Andy won’t back down, and ultimately, Miranda relents. She sticks out her hand to take the cup. “Go outside and wait.”

Andy smiles, and shakes her head. “Not a chance.”

“Gargling is disgusting enough in private. I won’t have an audience.”

“I won’t tell a soul, Miranda. Now go ahead. At least fifteen seconds before you spit it out.”

Miranda shakes her head as if in disbelief. She does it again, and looks at herself in the mirror. Andy watches her tilt her head back, lifting the cup to her mouth. As she gargles, Andy feels vindicated. It is, as Miranda described, disgusting, but it’s kind of awesome too. Andy hides her smile.

Miranda spits out the water, breathing heavily as she hangs her face over the sink. She groans softly, putting a hand to her throat. “Oh,” she says on a sigh. “It works.”

Andy holds back a cheer. She says, “Once more.”

Miranda listens this time, and gargles again, longer. Now that she has a taste of relief, she’s completely open to Andy’s remedy. She spits, and without thinking, Andy puts a hand on her back. Her body is very warm, and though Miranda stills for a moment, she doesn’t shake Andy off. It’s marvelous to offer this gentle comfort, and Andy rubs in circles. “You have a fever,” she says, feeling the heat coming off Miranda in waves. “You’re contagious. Please think about going home.”

Andy feels her heave a big breath. “I need to stay.”

“You set the example here, Miranda. Do you really want your employees to believe they have to suffer at their desks instead of at home, where they can rest and get better? Other than Emily, that is, who wouldn’t go home even if she was at death’s door.” She chuckles at her own bad joke.

Miranda lifts her head and meets Andy’s eyes in the mirror. She looks beaten. “Don’t think that thought hasn’t already occurred to me.”

Andy tilts her head. “You’re brilliant, Miranda, but you Type As don’t always accept help when people offer it.” She thinks for a moment before saying, “Nobody knows you’re sick. If you leave now, I’ll tell everyone you had to call an emergency meeting with, let’s say… Georgina and Keren.”

“What if—“

“Nobody will ask, Miranda.” Nobody ever does, and they both know it. “I’ll take the hit if I have to. Besides, Georgina’s assistant owes me a favor. I’ll give her a call.”

Miranda’s eyes go soft. She’s tired, and it shows. With a sigh, she stands up. “Fine. What else do you have in there?” she asks, eyeing Andy’s brown bag.

“Finish gargling and I’ll show you.”

\---

By 11, Andy has ferried Miranda out of the office, managing to avoid Emily’s questioning gaze for the most part. She leaves a voicemail on Emily’s phone about the fake meeting and has a quick chat with Nathalie at Georgina’s office. Nathalie agrees to a little white lie in case anyone asks about the meeting that they aren’t having.

“Won’t say a word, Andy. Miranda’s lucky to have you,” Nathalie tells her, and Andy smiles.

“Thanks, Nathalie. I really appreciate it. I owe you.”

“Nah, we’re even. Let’s get a coffee at the tents in a few weeks. If either of us have the time, that is,” Nathalie says.

“You got it. Talk to you soon.”

Andy decides to accompany Miranda home; they are both silent during the ride. Once in the townhouse, Andy carries her supplies and her laptop into the kitchen. She sets up the computer while the kettle is heating up, and after a few minutes, Miranda joins her. She is in the bathrobe that Andy remembers from Paris; it makes her head a little fuzzy to see it again.

“Take these,” Andy says, holding out two white pills. “You can take two more in four hours. They should help your throat. Have you eaten today?”

When Miranda shakes her head, Andy doesn’t even bother consulting her. She finds wheat bread in an old-fashioned breadbox on the counter and drops a slice into the toaster. By the time the toast is ready, so is the tea. The scent of licorice wafts up, and she dips a tablespoon of honey into the cup. Despite a soft sound of complaint from Miranda, Andy spreads a lot of butter on the toast, mainly to soften it up. “Here,” Andy says, pushing the plate across the counter.

Miranda gazes forlornly at the toast but takes a bite, which leads Andy to believe she’s feeling even worse than she was a few hours ago. She eats, and sips the tea gingerly. Andy works at the counter on her laptop, typing a reply to an email. The kitchen is quiet as they sit together. It’s strange, but good too.

When the toast is gone, Andy tops up Miranda’s cup with hot water and another shot of honey. “You should try and sleep.”

“You’re very bossy today,” Miranda says. The croak from earlier is gone; she sounds more like herself.

“I’m very bossy every day. Just not to you,” Andy says, sending off her email with a final click. She looks up, and Miranda is watching her carefully. They look at each other for so long than Andy starts to feel unsettled. She can’t stop the heat that floods her cheeks, but manages to keep from looking away. Her heart is beating very hard.

“I see,” Miranda says.

Andy opens her mouth to tell Miranda that she really should go to sleep, but before she can Miranda slides off the stool. “I’m going upstairs. The girls will be home in a few hours.” She glances down at the empty plate.

“I’ll make them a snack,” Andy says, keeping her eyes fastened to Miranda’s clenched jaw. She imagines that there are dozens of words stored up in the back of her throat, just waiting to come out, but Miranda’s will is too strong to allow that.

“Fine.” Miranda carries her plate to the sink. She glances at Andy a last time, and Andy gives her a weak smile in return.

“Sleep well.”

Miranda nods once and leaves. Andy listens intently as she climbs the stairs, hears the creak of the bedroom door closing. She has never seen Miranda’s bedroom. As much as she wants to, she knows she will not get the chance. The thought leaves a streak of melancholy on her heart. It’s odd to pine for someone she spends nearly every waking moment with. It’s sad too, but Andy has accepted that this is the way things will be until she has to move on.

For only a moment, she thinks about climbing up the stairs after Miranda, sliding under the covers with her, stroking her back until she falls asleep. That moment is enough to live on for a while, and Andy enjoys the warm feeling it gives her.

Shaking her head, she returns to the computer and goes to back to work.


	2. The Righteous Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks, Xander, for the read through. As the community knows, I’ve been thin on inspiration, but this short piece was ready-made for a quick turn around. I’ve also been known to recycle my own plots, and this is another one of those instances. Sad, but true.

 

\---

Andy stares at the computer screen, watching the words of an email go in and out of focus. Minutes pass in a haze, and she hopes no one notices. When the phone rings, she is startled but picks up right away.

 

“Miranda Priestly’s office.”

 

There is a pause.  “Who is this?”

 

Andy swallows gingerly. “This is Andy Sachs, Miranda’s assistant.” Andy blinks once when her brain synapses start firing in a delayed reaction. Tentatively, she says, “Miranda?”

 

“Mm,” Miranda hums in assent, and Andy closes her eyes. “I’ll be in momentarily. Is my coffee there?”

 

Andy sits up a little straighter. She’s been waiting for Miranda’s return from her vacation in Nice with both eagerness and dread, but now, the dread takes over in full force. “It’s due to arrive in about,” she checks her watch, “75 seconds.” If Jennifer wants to stay employed, at least, that’s when it will arrive. Otherwise Andy will make her rue the day she took the job.

 

“Good. I--” There is another uncharacteristic pause. “I’ll see you in a few minutes.”

 

Clearing her throat as silently as she can, Andy asks, “Is there anything I can start on before--”

 

“No.”

 

Okay. That’s different. Andy waits for Miranda to hang up. She doesn’t.

 

“Well, then--” Andy begins.

 

“Andrea--oh, fine, it can wait until I get there.” The click of a hang up finally comes, and Andy sits back in her chair and prays Jenn will arrive in about 62 seconds.

 

She stands up and does a quick once over of Miranda’s office, not touching anything in the process. Jenn is the one who set everything up today, and Andy told her not to say a word to anyone about Andy’s health. She is sure that Miranda will not notice; she was extremely careful with her makeup in the lobby bathroom when she arrived at Elias Clarke at 6 this morning. A box of tissues is stashed under the desk, and Andy’s been sucking down cough drops incessantly since she sat down. And Miranda doesn’t care about her assistants’ health, as long as they can do their jobs, so she is pretty confident nothing will come of it.

 

She has to stay today. There is no way in hell she’s going home sick. She’d rather die.

 

By the time she sits down in her chair, Jenn gets back, coffee in tow. “Here, I brought you some chamomile. It should help your throat.”

 

Andy’s mean thoughts about Jenn all vanish instantly, and she takes the hot cup. “Oh geez, thank you.” She tries to imagine Emily bringing her tea, even in the last months they worked together when things were a little better between them. She still can’t. For a moment she ponders Emily’s new position in the London office, and wonders how she’s doing. Maybe she’ll drop her an email today to find out. She almost looks forward to the irritated reply she’d receive, if any reply came at all.

 

Carefully she removes the lid of the tea and inhales some of the steam, which soothes her sore nose just a tiny bit. The Tylenol is wearing off already; Andy worries that her fever is back, but she can’t take anything until at least 10. It is going to be a long day, but an even longer night; she plans to sit tight in the office until the absolute last minute. Certainly until the Book is delivered; she thinks about just telling Jenn that she’ll call her when it’s done. That’s a good idea--

 

Miranda breezes in, and her light jacket is sails in the direction of Jenn’s desk. A bag Andy doesn’t recognize lands next to it; it must be a vacation purchase. It’s lovely, and looks soft and supple as anything she’s ever seen. She’ll have to take a closer look when she has a moment. Maybe it’s Marc Jacobs. She’s seen the early sketches of next year’s spring collection already, and it resembles one she liked a lot. Or it could be--

 

“Andrea,” Miranda says sharply.

 

Andy jerks out of her bag reverie and stands up so fast she feels dizzy. “Sorry, hi, Miranda. What can I do?”

 

Miranda is two feet in front of Andy’s desk, and she narrows her eyes. “Come into my office. Shut the door behind you.”

 

Andy glances over at Jenn, who looks terrified. Andy tries to force her lips into the shape of a smile, but she’s pretty sure it looks more like a frown. She does as she’s told, and after Miranda sits behind the desk, Andy lowers herself gently onto the edge of an office chair, careful not to touch the arms.

 

Miranda doesn’t say anything right away, so Andy starts with, “H- How was your trip?”

 

Miranda purses her lips, not blinking. “A few months ago, we had a conversation that I remember very distinctly, despite my being… more than a little under the weather.”

 

Andy’s mouth opens, but she can’t seem to reply in any coherent sense. She has a sinking suspicion she knows exactly what Miranda’s about to say. How could she have been so stupid, to think that Miranda wouldn’t notice? Miranda notices everything--if a dog was shitting 40 yards away from a photo shoot on a street corner, she’d have Andy run to make sure the owner picked up after it. She’d notice if--

 

“Hello,” Miranda says, waving her hand in front of Andy to catch her attention. “I can see that you haven’t taken your own advice, which at the time, sounded rather more like an order.” Miranda leans forward. “Go home.”

 

Andy freezes. “I’m fine, really--”

 

“You are sick. Very, unless you’ve surgically altered your voice to sound like Demi Moore circa 1997, which I sincerely hope you have not. Go home this instant. Whatever you’ve got, I don’t want it--”

 

“Please, Miranda, I’m not sick--”

 

Miranda’s eyes flash in anger. “I am not asking, Andrea. I am telling you--”

 

To her utter horror, in less than a five second span, tears burst from Andy’s eyes. Andy covers her face quickly, but it’s too late--Miranda has stopped speaking. Andy can already feel her breath starting to come in sobs. She is mortified at her breakdown, and more mortified that Miranda is witnessing it, and she is absolutely certain she is going to be fired, which is the last thing on earth she wants, because being near Miranda helps keep her motivated to write every night in the hopes that someday, one of her submissions will be accepted by another magazine--

 

“Andrea!”

 

Andy sobs in earnest this time, unable to face the prospect of being thrown out of the building like somebody who doesn’t matter, like the shit on the bottom of Miranda’s shoe--

 

“Andrea, look at me right now.”

 

Andy looks up, and is struck by the fact that Miranda no longer looks angry. Instead, she appears confused, and is that concern in her eyes? Is that even possible?

 

“Tell me this instant why you’re crying. For god’s sake, it’s not  _consumption_. Go home and get some rest.”

 

Andy tries to take a breath, but it sounds more like she’s choking. “I-I-I can’t rest at home. I--please let me just stay---I’ll be out of your way--”

 

“Why can’t you go home?” Miranda frowns. “Is there a problem? I thought--” Miranda glances over Andy’s shoulder for a moment, out into the hallway. She lowers her voice. “I thought you and that boyfriend of yours were no longer together. Is he… bothering you?”

 

A fresh round of tears streams down Andy’s face, and Andy is humiliated beyond belief. “It’s not that, not that at all--” she tries to catch her breath again--”he’s gone.” She has no idea that Miranda knew she had a boyfriend, or that they broke up. With a sniffle, she reveals the problem in a whisper. “He took the air conditioner with him.”

 

Miranda’s eyebrows lift as Andy pulls a tissue from her sleeve to wipe her nose. “Oh?”

 

“You’ve been away, and it’s been so hot, and I haven’t slept well for a couple of nights, and then I got sick, and I didn’t want to bother my friends, because we’re already on thin ice mostly, so I wasn’t exactly up for hauling a two hundred pound a/c unit up four flights, and it’s like an oven in my place, so I can’t get any rest, and I can’t eat, and I have this stupid fever, but I’ve got--”

 

“You’re telling me that you can’t go home because you don’t have air conditioning?”

 

Andy gives her a tiny nod. “It’s only April. I didn’t think I’d need one till later, maybe next month. But it’s been at least a hundred since Friday--almost 107 on Saturday-- and today’s supposed to be just as bad…” She tries hard to cork her babbling, which is dangerously similar to the ramblings of someone suffering a psychotic break. Without warning, she sneezes into her tissue and plants her face into her lap to avoid showering Miranda with germs.

 

When she looks up again, Miranda is leaning back in her seat, hands steepled together. “Hmm.” She watches Andy, who tries not to squirm. “That is a problem.”

 

Andy takes a quick gulp of air, and wishes she could sink into the floor and disappear. She has never felt so ridiculous in her life. If she ever thought Miranda could look twice at her as anything other than an assistant, those hopes are gone now, forever--

 

“Go, then,” Miranda says. “To my home. You have a key. The air hasn’t been on in my absence, but the housekeeper is preparing for my return, so it should be fine by the time you arrive. There’s a bedroom on the third floor, second door on the left, with clean sheets.” Miranda raised an eyebrow. “I take it you have plenty of home remedies on hand? You certainly had enough to take care of me,” she smirks.

 

Andy sits very still, and looks at Miranda with suspicious eyes. She isn’t sure she’s heard clearly, so she uses the tried and true method to make sure she’s heard right: repetition. “Second door on the--”

 

“Left. My, you are bad off if you’re having trouble with comprehension. And I hope you haven’t touched anything in the office--”

 

“Not a thing. Jenn did everything this morning. I’ve been using that hand sanitizer stuff, and I have those wipes--”

 

“Fine,” Miranda says, and Andy hears her cue to get up and get out. But this time, she doesn’t feel nearly as bad as she thought she would. Because she is going to go to Miranda’s home, and get into a bed on her third floor, and sleep like the dead. The righteous dead.

 

“Wow, Miranda. I, I can’t thank you--”

 

“Yes, yes, you can thank me by getting well as soon as possible. I suppose I’ll see you later.” Miranda looks at Andy blankly. “So go.”

 

“Right.” Andy gets up, and smiles a very embarrassed smile, wiping the last of her tears away and a good bit of mascara along with it. “Thanks, though. Really. Bye.”

 

Andy opens the door, protecting it with a clean tissue plucked from her other sleeve, and steps back into the hall. Jenn watches her anxiously. “Are you okay?”

 

Andy nods, feeling as though her head is surrounded by gauze. “I’m going. She knew right away that I was sick.”

 

There is some panic in Jenn’s eyes now; she’s only been on the job for two months, but Andy isn’t so worried. She did well to find this girl, who is a lot like Andy except for two things: she’s married, and she started out with better style than Andy ever had. “You’ll be fine. Call me anytime you want. I’ll uh, have my phone.” Andy finds the phone in her purse and waves it before straightening up woozily. She hadn’t told Jenn about her miserable living situation, so she doesn’t have to explain where she’s going. “I’ll totally be available, I promise.” Andy prays that she doesn’t get a call, at least for a few hours. “Good luck!”

 

“Thanks, Andy. Get better soon. Please,” she adds with a grimace.

 

“I’ll try. See you.” She blows her nose and glances in at Miranda one last time before departing.

 

The ride in the elevator is solitary, and Andy braces herself for the five minute walk to the subway, which on her way in seemed interminable. Outside, it’s as hot as she remembers, and she swallows against an instantly dry throat. Curiously, she barely makes it to the corner before someone grabs her arm.

 

“Hey,” Roy says, barely dodging Andy’s purse as it flies toward him in a futile gesture of self-defense. “I hear you need a ride.”

 

“Huh?” Andy says, before correcting herself. “I mean, pardon?” She’s a little embarrassed that she tried to hit him, but he  _did_  try to grab her without calling out first.

 

He looks at her with confusion at first, but shrugs. “Come on. Miranda texted me that you’re working on some stuff at her place. And that you need a ride.” At Andy’s blank look, he adds, “In the car.”

 

Andy is sort of freaked at this act of kindness, but she simply nods her head and follows Roy to the double parked Mercedes. They get a couple of beeps by irate taxi drivers as they get in, but Roy is undoubtedly used to that. He doesn’t say anything else as they ease into traffic, while Andy drifts in a pleasant state of bliss with cool air blowing in her face.

 

“Andy!” Roy says, startling her.

 

“What? Is it Miranda?”

 

Roy grins at her in the rearview mirror. “No. We’re here. Man, you look terrible. I take it she made you nuts even while she was away on vacation?”

 

Andy is groggy, but manages to reply, “Oh, it’s just Miranda.” That’s generic enough to mean absolutely nothing. She hopes. Stumbling out of the car, she hunts in her bag for the key, barely able to stand up in the heat. She remembers to thank Roy only after he’s pulled away, and waves in appreciation from Miranda’s front stoop. She can text him from inside, once she gets there. Finally, she locates her keys and unlocks the door. Stepping inside, she is grateful that the housekeeper is there. “James?”

 

She waits only a few moments before a tall, slim man appears on the second floor landing with a feather duster in hand. “Hi, Andrea. Miranda told me you were coming. The room is up here.”

 

Andy goes straight upstairs, following James. She wishes desperately that the room was on the first floor instead of third, because by the time she gets to the top of the steps she is winded and light-headed.

 

“Here we are,” James says. Andy glances in the open doorway and almost cries again. The bed is turned down, and it looks like a little slice of heaven. The room is cool, and the bedcovers are heavy and soft and downy.

 

“There’s a bathroom attached, and I’ve left you hot water. Do you have tea with you?”

 

Leave it to Miranda to be prepared. Or to make other people be prepared. “Yes, I do. Thank you so much, James. I really appreciate it.”

 

“It’s nothing, Andrea. I’ll be on the second floor. Just let me know if you need anything.”

 

“Okay,” she nods, He steps out and closes the door, leaving her alone.

 

The silence strikes her first; she’s used to a constant stream of some sort of noise at her place, of cars and trucks, and voices, and music, and kids crying or laughing or screaming at the tops of their lungs. This is stillNew York, but it’s utterly quiet, and without delay, Andy pulls off the filmy top she’s wearing, folds it and sets it on a wingback chair. Her skirt follows, and before she can feel self-conscious about being mostly naked in Miranda’s home, she puts a bag of licorice tea in a cup and adds steaming water. She lets it steep while making a quick trip to the bathroom to wash up. Once she sees her reflection in all its glory, she’s amazed that Roy and Jenn and James didn’t laugh in her face when they saw her. She has lines of mascara down her cheeks, and what’s worse is the chalk white of her complexion. She typically stays out of the sun, but with a fever and a cold, she looks like a ghost. A creepy ghost. Her chest is flushed with fever, and she regrets yet again that she can’t take anymore acetaminophen until later. But she never sleeps well when she’s sick; she’ll probably be up in an hour as it is. After a protracted gargling session, she heads back to the room to set out some Tylenol on the bedside table, along with a full glass of water.

 

Before falling into the bed, she sips her tea and glances around. The room is warm as guest rooms go; warmer than she would have expected from Miranda. There are some pictures of the twins on a far bookshelf that’s lined with novels. There’s even a flat panel television on a small entertainment center, and something that looks like an iPod-friendly stereo. But the bed is the centerpiece of the room, with four posters and a glorious headboard embroidered with elegant vines and flowers. It looks supremely comfortable, and when she sits down, she finds this to be true.

 

She stacks the pillows at the headboard to have a comfortable place to lean as she finishes her tea, and checks her phone for messages. None yet, and no emails have come in other than a few that Jenn has already replied to and cc’ed her on. A few minutes later, she can barely keep her eyes open, and after she sets the teacup back on the service tray, she pulls the covers up and snuggles down.

 

“Unbelievable,” she mumbles, thinking about the way she thought she’d spend the day, compared to what she’s doing right now. “Mm. Thanks, Miranda.”

 

Barely a minute goes by before she is asleep.

\---

Andy is dreaming of sleeping in a delightful cocoon of feathers and cotton when a hand smoothes along her back. It isn’t touching her skin, but she can feel the pressure of it, and it’s nice. “Mm,” she hums. “That’s good.”

 

It doesn’t occur to her who is doing the touching until she hears the silken voice of her boss a few inches from her ear. “Andrea,” she murmurs. “Are you all right?”

 

Andy jerks awake and sits up fast, almost knocking Miranda’s chin with her head in the process. She feels instantly guilty, that she should have been awake and working instead of lazing the day away in Miranda’s bed, in Miranda’s townhouse, using up Miranda’s valuable air conditioning. “Hi, sorry. What is it?”

 

Miranda is staring at her with surprise, and a few seconds pass before she looks away and chuckles. She actually chuckles, and Andy is too taken with the sound of it before she registers the words Miranda follows it with. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

 

Still partly asleep, and a lot sick, Andy thinks for a second before glancing down at herself. “Shi--I mean whoops. Sorry.” She pulls the sheet up, at least relieved that she wore one of her finer pieces of lingerie today. Her cheeks flush. “Sorry. I was asleep, I think. What time--” She glances at the timepiece on the side table, and does a rather dramatic double take. “That can’t be right.”

 

“It’s eight thirty. PM.” Miranda is almost smiling now. “I take it you slept well?”

 

Andy is too stunned to reply at first. “Well, yes, I--I only thought I’d get a few hours before I could--well, I hadn’t really made any sort of plan. I was kind of, um, sick.”

 

“I see that,” Miranda replies, and her voice is kinder than Andy can ever remember hearing. “The girls are home. I can’t believe you didn’t hear them when they returned from school. Cassidy tells me she checked in on you at around 4 and that you were, ‘dead to the world.’ I was very glad to hear it.”

 

Andy cringes. “I hope I was covered up--”

 

Miranda chuckles again. “Oh, I’m sure you were. I’d have heard otherwise, you can be certain of that.”

 

With relief, Andy relaxes. “Good. I’m--I really should go--”  _back to my hideously hot apartment so I can die in peace away from your laughter and smiles_ \--

 

“You’ll come downstairs and have some soup before you leave. You need energy, and your fever is back.”

 

Andy feels her forehead but isn’t sure she’s warmer than usual. “How do you--”

 

“I have two children. Believe me, I know. Take some Tylenol and get dressed. The soup is ready.”

 

Andy feels shockingly grateful. She doesn’t deserve this. “I’m--” But before she can prostrate herself in front of Miranda, which would probably not end well, Miranda glides from the room and closes the door.

 

Andy glances around. “Well, shit.”

 

A few minutes later, she is redressed and downstairs at the little island in the kitchen, gulping down hot chicken noodle soup. And it’s not from a can, Andy is positive. “This is amazing.”

 

“You can tell James when you see him. He left it for you. Apparently you looked quite the disaster when you arrived this morning.”

 

Andy laughs a little, and is charmed by the sparkle in Miranda’s eye. They sit together in the kitchen, and Andy is reminded of a morning similar to this, when she made Miranda eat buttery toast before sending her off to bed. She stares into her soup, still impressed that she dragged Miranda into a bathroom to gargle.

 

“What are you smiling at?” Miranda asks.

 

Andy shrugs before wiping her nose with a tissue. There’s some spicy heat to the soup, and it’s making her nose run more than usual. “Nothing.”

 

“I remember that morning well,” Miranda says, as though Andy had spoken aloud. “You were very forward.” Miranda looks away. “I appreciated that, a great deal. I felt taken care of.” She sniffs. “More than usual, that is. It was… different.”

 

Andy looks up and enjoys the pale column of Miranda’s throat. She imagines tasting the pulse that throbs strongly there, imagines opening her mouth and feeling the blood rush through her body. She thinks about how good she would smell, and wonders if her skin is cool, or warm to the touch, and decides that it must be warm, or hot, even--wouldn’t it--

 

“Andy!” Cassidy calls out as she flies into the kitchen, and Andy drops her spoon into the bowl.

 

“Whoops,” she says, grabbing the spoon and covering her eyes for a moment with her other hand. “Whew. I’m still tired.”

 

Cassidy rolls her eyes. “That’s hard to believe. You slept for like, two days.”

 

“Don’t pester Andrea this evening, darling,” Miranda says. “Not when she can’t defend herself.”

 

“But--”

 

“No buts. Homework and bed. You and your sister both. Besides, you’re likely to catch a cold, she’s contagious. Scoot.”

 

“Oh whatev. Bye, Andy. Maybe you can help me with my math next week. I just started Algebra.”

 

Andy snorts into her soup. “I’ll do what I can.” When Cassidy is gone, she admits to Miranda, “Geometry, maybe, but algebra, not so much. When they need help with English, I’ll be first in line.”

 

Miranda waves a hand. “No need for that, They have a new tutor. But if you’re in the mood, perhaps sometime. They do--” Miranda pauses-- “seem to enjoy your company.”

 

This is a surprise to Andy. They’ve rarely called Andy by the right name--for the last two months, at least half the time they’ve called her “First Assistant” whenever they’ve seen her in the evenings or on weekends. But they seem less horrible than they were last year, so that’s something.

 

Andy digs into the soup more fully, realizing that she really is hungry, and this hits the spot. Miranda doles out some saltines, which Andy nibbles as well. When she’s finished, the empty bowl seems sad to Andy, because it means this is it—she has to go home. It’s been nice to be here, even if the majority of her time was spent sleeping. And it’s been  _really_  nice to sit with Miranda again, just the two of them in the kitchen. She will hold on to these moments and shore herself up with them. Secretly she wonders if there’s a photo of Miranda somewhere in the house that she could nab with no one noticing.

 

Probably a bad idea. The last thing she’d want is to be caught stealing something, much less a photo of her boss.

 

“Well, thanks again. You really saved me, Miranda.”

 

Miranda clucks her tongue. “An afternoon of peace and quiet is a small price to pay. Roy will drive you home--I don’t want you picking up something worse on the subway. One never knows when consumption will make a comeback.”

 

Andy laughs. “I won’t say no. I appreciate it.”

 

She deposits her bowl in the dishwasher and climbs the stairs to get her bag. Before she leaves, she washes up in the bathroom, and wipes everything she touched, just in case. She strips the bed and leaves the sheets in the small laundry room on the second floor for James to handle in the morning. She owes him one. Or a few.

 

Downstairs, Miranda has settled in the study to flip through the book. Jenn must have come and gone without Andy’s knowledge. She hopes the day went smoothly enough, but she assumes she’d have heard otherwise from Miranda already if it hadn’t. Andy gives her an awkward wave, and Miranda looks up over her glasses. “Good night,” Miranda says, and Andy tries not to imagine a sweetness to her rare, faint smile.

 

“G’ Night. See you, hopefully tomorrow.”

 

Outside, it’s humid, but less hot than it has been. She hopes that somehow her apartment will be livable by the time she gets home, but it’s unlikely. Well, she’ll open the windows, jack up the fan and take a cool shower before she hits the sack. And some Tylenol PM is in the cards, without a doubt.

 

Roy is quiet again tonight, so Andy just watches the streetlights streak by on her way downtown. It’s awfully nice to be ferried to and from the places she needs to go. Miranda probably doesn’t realize just how good she has it, but Andy knows that she worked hard to get to where she is, and she deserves every perk she gets.

 

When they arrive at her apartment building, Andy lets herself out, and again she wipes down the places she touched. Miranda will be in the same car in the morning, and who knows how long germs can survive? “ByeRoy. Have a good night. Er, what’s left of it.”

 

“You too, Andy. Stay cool.”

 

“Hah.” Andy slams the door a little too hard, and regrets it. It’s not Roy’s fault she didn’t plan ahead. Slowly she slogs up the creaky steps of the building and unlocks the door. But inside, the temperature is far from hot; in fact, it’s positively cool. Cold, even. Andy’s eyes get wide, and she closes the door lest the air escape into the muggy hallway. There’s a low hum coming from across the room; a window unit is now installed there, blowing blessedly cold air. The temperature is set at 68. Andy thinks she may be hallucinating.

 

“Hello?” she calls out, wondering if there’s a burglar inside. She plans on thanking him for leaving this most precious of gifts behind. No one replies, so she moves through the kitchen, which is cool as well, and into the bedroom, which is cold. There’s a second unit tucked in the window a few feet from the bed. A piece of folded white paper rests on top of the machine, and Andy grabs it.

 

_Made a copy of your key while you slept. Hope these will do—they are energy efficient and shouldn’t blow any fuses. Oh, and Miranda says you’re welcome._

_James_

Without considering the intelligence of her next actions, Andy whips out her phone. Her nose is burning and there are already tears in her eyes; she is awfully emotional today. She blames being sick for it, even if that’s a big fat lie.

 

“Yes,” Miranda answers, and Andy hears her smile.

 

“I—I—“ Andy is truly lost for words. “Thank you.”

 

“You’re welcome.”

 

“You didn’t have to—“

 

“I know. Consider it a Christmas bonus. Four months late.”

 

Andy sniffles, but laughs. “This is definitely the nicest bonus I’ve ever gotten. And one of the nicest gifts too.” She hopes that her voice doesn’t sound too affectionate, but Miranda is lucky that this is all she’s said. Andy’s about ready to confess her undying love, and she’d mean it for more than this act of generosity. Her boundaries feel invisible tonight. If Miranda asked her for anything at all, she’d do it.  

 

“Well,” Miranda says. “I—just get well. Don’t come in tomorrow if you still have a fever. You may work from home if you’re up for it. Now that it’s cool you’ve no excuse to sleep poorly tonight.”

 

Andy thinks she’d rather spend her night fantasizing about Miranda instead of sleeping, but that probably wouldn’t do her any good. “You’re right. I’ll text you and let you know. Okay?”

 

“Mm. See you soon, then.”

 

“Sure thing. And thanks again.”

 

Miranda hangs up, and Andy does too. In the other room, she shuts off the air; she doesn’t want to imagine her power bill if she runs two air conditioners at the same time. But the bedroom unit she leaves set at a peaceful 75. After a quick shower, she puts on her pajamas, takes her drugs, and snuggles into a bed that’s a lot less cushy than the one she slept on earlier, but it’s hers, and she loves it. She thinks she can still smell Miranda’s perfume in her hair and on her skin, and the phantom scent carries her off to sleep once more.


	3. Hooked

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> one detail inspired by [](http://thelastgoodname.livejournal.com/profile)[**thelastgoodname**](http://thelastgoodname.livejournal.com/) , and [](http://takethisstep.livejournal.com/profile)[](http://takethisstep.livejournal.com/)**takethisstep**  read my mind. Thanks to Xander for the read-through.

 

Andy keeps her head down, and hopes that the tickle in the back of her throat is just an allergy to something in the air—maybe Jocelyn’s perfume, or the aftershave of that Fed Ex guy she walked by a few minutes ago. But she doesn’t have a lot of hope. She’s pretty sure she’s about to get sick. At least this time, it’s definitely not her fault.

 

Well, mostly.

 

She double checks her copy, then checks it a third time before nodding her head. So far she’s been so thorough with her research and quality control that no one has had the opportunity to complain about her promotion to editorial. They seem to like her; she’s fit in well enough, working long hours and complaining about Miranda whenever appropriate. She remains a tiny cog in an enormous wheel, but it’s better than schlepping coffee and carrying skirts. Although the new gig does have its drawbacks.

 

The biggest one is the location of her desk. As in, she’s no longer ten feet from Miranda at all times.

 

But there are other perks. She doesn’t report directly to Miranda anymore; there are about three layers of staff between them now. Psychologically, this seems like a good idea, but legally, she’s not sure it matters. At least there are no accusations of favoritism, because Miranda and Andy have such limited contact. On occasion Andy will get a whiff of Miranda’s perfume in the conference room, or she’ll glance into her office on her way out to lunch. Andy has some regrets about not seeing her much in public, but it’s a small price to pay. It was the right move for a zillion reasons, not the least of which is the bump in pay. It’s not huge, but it allows her some breathing room, and a little spending money that she doesn’t usually spend. Someday she’ll want it though, so it goes in a savings account and makes a miniscule amount of interest every month. Nobody can say she’s not responsible.

 

They could say other things, though, if they knew better. But they don’t, and Andy plans to keep it that way.

 

“A-choo!” The sneeze surprises her so much that she can’t hold it in, and she glances up and around furtively in case anyone caught her.

 

Jocelyn chuckles; it was a noisy sneeze. She says, “Bless you.”

 

“Thanks,” Andy croaks, grabbing a tissue. She tries not to frown.

 

She sneezes again, then again.

 

 _Fuck_.

 

“That’s funny, there must be something going around,” Nigel says as he strolls by.

 

“Hmm?” Andy says, wiping her nose in the daintiest way possible, even though she’s already snotting up the Kleenex like a champ.

 

“Miranda just sneezed ten times in a row. We were on a conference call with Ghesquiere and I had to mute the phone. It just went on and on.” He looks thoughtfully at Andy, and his expression puts her on alert. “Maybe you picked something up from her.”

 

She smiles, aiming for innocence and a dash of bitterness, appropriate for a formerly put-upon assistant. “Well I don’t exactly have to bring her coffee every day anymore, so I doubt it. But you know I did see some sneezy kids when I was out to dinner the other night—“

 

“Oh, of course. We all know how you love the Olive Garden,” he says with a fey wave of his hand. “I’m sure the all-you-can-eat breadsticks were worth it.”

 

Andy rolls her eyes, irritated. But a touch of the new-in-town hick act helps now and then as a mode of protection. She’s grown up a lot since she's been in New York, but it’s not so difficult to turn it on. “Fine. I won’t bore you with the details.” She really won’t. Nigel wouldn’t want to hear any of them.

 

“At least it’s Friday so you can recover in the privacy of your own home,” Nigel drawls. “Not that you’ll be leaving early tonight. We’ll need some blurbs for the Lanvin feature, so you’ll have to get the pricing guides from accessories.”

 

“On it,” Andy says, happily pushing her chair back from the desk. Anything to get away from potential exposure. As she grabs a fresh tissue, her phone buzzes. She picks it up and glances at it quickly, shielding it from Nigel’s prying gaze.

 

“Is there a fish on the other end of that hook?” he inquires, a sly smile spreading across his face. It’s friendly, and Andy knows she has to banter back.

 

“Maybe,” she says, fluttering her eyelashes.

 

“Tell him if he gets bored to come see me. I haven’t had any nibbles for a while.”

 

Andy opens her mouth to lob a suggestive reply, but reminds herself that he’s more her boss now than he used to be. “No comment,” she says with a grin, and he chuckles.

 

“Probably the right idea. Get started on those guides after you chat with loverboy, ok? Make it snappy.”

 

“Yes, sir,” she salutes, and disappears into the white hallway, where she can check the message in privacy.

 

 **BR** it says in bright red letters. Andy licks her lips. Her breathing gets shallow, and she looks around quickly to see if anyone’s watching. No one is, so she pockets the phone and skitters down the hall.

 

She exits through the main Runway glass doors and makes a beeline to the stairwell, climbing up. There’s a bathroom on 20 that doesn’t get a lot of traffic because the floor is only half occupied, so now and then, she visits it. And locks the door.

 

By the time she throws the lock, she’s wet and nervous, aside from feeling slightly feverish. She’s not sure where the fever’s coming from though, which makes her laugh. Even to her own ears, the sound is sexy.

 

Miranda is waiting, leaning against a stall door, and just the sight of her makes Andy’s breath catch. She looks a little pale, and for a moment Andy wonders if she isn’t going to get lucky. But then Miranda crooks her finger, and Andy’s blood rushes south, and she goes in for a kiss.

 

It’s a good one, giving Andy chills all the way down her back. Miranda tickles the erogenous place at the base of her spine, and Andy jerks in response. They kiss some more, until Andy starts to ease Miranda’s form-fitting skirt up. As they back into the largest stall, where they’ve had a number of trysts already, Andy yanks at the zipper. She slams the stall door shut, not caring that even if there are cameras in the room, they’d have been caught multiple times. The first time it happened in here, they didn’t make it to a stall, and instead clung to each other fully clothed against the counter for a violently quick, almost simultaneous climax. Granted, they’d only done it once at that point, and three days had gone by before they’d gotten an opportunity to meet again. Andy has very fond memories of that encounter, and the thought of it fuels her now, as she swirls her fingers against Miranda.

 

“Hey,” she breathes against Miranda’s mouth. “God, you feel good.”

 

“Mm,” Miranda says, leaning her head back against cool metal. “That’s—oh, yes, there.” Miranda covers Andy’s hand, and her slick fingers drive Andy out of her mind like always. She bites Miranda’s shoulder to keep herself from crying out, all the while rubbing against Miranda’s thigh. Their rhythm is like music, like dancing, and Andy pants her way through it. She loves how Miranda directs her, and as Miranda picks up speed, she tries hard to hold back a sneeze. It doesn’t work, though, and she tilts her head away and lets it out.

 

“Hach-oo!”

 

“Ohh-ah-haa,” Miranda chuckles, still close, but distracted, breaking the cadence for a moment. She laughs again, until Andy leans in for a vicious chomp of her neck. Miranda likes to be bitten; Andy thinks the additional risk of the discovery through a mark makes it more exciting. In this way, the bite isn’t a punishment for laughing at Andy, but it does the job, reminding Miranda that she’s there to come, and come hard, which she does very shortly thereafter.

 

When she’s finished, Miranda holds Andy’s head with both hands, one of which is damp with her own sweat and come. Andy can smell it, and she swoons a bit before Miranda kisses her softly. These are Andy’s favorite kisses; before Miranda comes, she doesn’t like a lot of tongue. Her lips are pliant and delicious, so it’s no great loss. When they first started up, it was kind of a revelation to be so sparing, since most guys she’d been with were messy kissers. But Miranda is all about the lips, so in the opportune moments when her tongue touches Andy’s, it’s as electric as it was that first day.

 

Now Miranda is looser, and her kisses turn softer, more open. Andy loves it, particularly the way she sucks at Andy’s lower lip like it’s the sweetest lollipop. Their tongues flick against each other, and Andy shivers as Miranda’s hand descends to unzip her loose fitting trousers.

 

“Oh,” she says, inhaling sharply when Miranda slides right in without pause. “Hachoo!” Andy sneezes breathlessly. “Sorry. Oh yeah, that’s nice,” she gasps, leaning over to make the angle better. “Your fault though.”

 

“It is not,” Miranda says, even though they both know it is. Cassidy came home with a cold three days ago, and proceeded to give it to Caroline. They are both almost better now, and have departed for their father’s for the weekend. Tomorrow will be the first free Saturday for the two of them to spend together since October, and even if they’re coughing and sneezing all over each other, Andy plans on having as much sex as possible. It’s good for them, at least that’s what she tells herself. It produces oxytocin, or something, which will make their resistance go up.

 

“Is too, oh,” she whines, thrusting her hips with closed eyes. “Almost there—“

 

Miranda’s breath catches, and she kisses Andy again, because she loves to kiss while Andy comes. Andy suspects she likes hearing how much Andy loves being fucked by her, so Andy tries to make it as good as it feels. Every sound gets swallowed up by Miranda’s hungry mouth until she feels it starting, and then she comes and comes until she sags against Miranda’s body. She stays there for a minute, trying to slow her heart beat and her breath.

 

“Come in the back way, tonight,” Miranda murmurs. “I don’t know what time to expect the book.”

 

“Okay,” Andy sighs. She drifts in the afterglow for all of thirty seconds more, until she remembers where she is, and what she’s supposed to be up to. “Shit, I have to do a thing. I should get back.”

 

Miranda raises an eyebrow, and her mouth curls seductively. “A thing?”

 

“Lanvin blurbs. Very dramatic.”

 

“Every job is important at _Runway_ , darling,” Miranda purrs.

 

Andy knows she should be happy that Miranda doesn’t look down on her professionally, but all she can hear is the word _darling_. She kisses Miranda, and holds her tightly.

 

\---

 

By 7 that night, Andy is well and truly sick; the cold hits hard, just as it did with the girls. Andy is relieved they won’t be home tonight, even though they’ve turned out to be okay kids. Spoiled rotten, sure, and snobby, but Andy’s certain if she’d been raised in their environment, she’d have been just as bad.

 

Nigel hasn’t given her any more funny looks today, even though he may have been keeping a closer eye on her than usual. He’s particularly interested in her cell phone, which hasn’t vibrated since her little tryst that morning. Miranda won’t be texting her again; she expects Andy to arrive whenever she’s able to, and that’s good enough. Of all people, Miranda understands the demands of her work schedule, which is unpredictable at best. At worst, it’s obscene, but she reminds herself that most of the time that she is working late, Miranda is too, so they wouldn’t be together anyway. It’s a very, very small comfort.

 

An hour later, her vision is blurred, and she’s gone through half the box of tissues.

 

“Scoot,” Nigel says, approaching her desk. “You’re done. See you Monday.”

 

“But I—“

 

“I don’t want to catch the plague. I hope you’ve touched as little as possible around the office.”

 

“I did. I’m sure I’ll be better soon.” She takes a chance, and asks, “Did Miranda get worse today?”

 

Nigel glances over his shoulder almost as an automatic defense mechanism. “No, she seemed perfectly well after her little performance earlier.”

 

Andy wonders how much of “perfectly well” is an act. Perhaps it really was allergies, but Andy doubts it. She says, “I’m not surprised. I don’t think viruses survive well in icy climates.”  


“Ooh, snap,” Nigel croons with a sly grin. “You’re lucky she’s gone. She might have knocked you down a peg or two if she’d heard that one.”

 

“No doubt,” Andy says, and decides that she’ll listen to Nigel and call it a night. “Thanks, Nigel. See you Monday—have a good one.”

 

“Better than yours will be, I’m sure,” he says, and heads to his office. She watches him for a few moments, wondering if he really has no idea, even though it doesn’t matter one way or another. If he knows, he hasn’t told anyone, and it’s not like they’re doing anything illegal. Not really. Andy decides it might be worth printing the HR manual just in case, and reminds herself that any sex that’s been had in the Elias-Clarke office building has not been on Runway property. She snorts at the thought, then sneezes three times.

 

The subway is crowded, so she can’t get a seat. It figures. She leans against a pole and tries not to get germs on anyone, but she does get some dirty looks. She feels like yelling, “It’s not my fault! My girlfriend’s kids are walking petri dishes!” but restrains herself. Barely.

 

There’s an alley behind Miranda’s fancy townhouse, narrow and dark, that gets very little foot traffic. This is her usual mode of entrance, and though it surprises her, she doesn’t mind being a secret. At first she was sure she would, but it turns out she doesn’t care at all. It’s better this way for both of them. Andy doesn’t have to feel publicly inadequate, and Miranda doesn’t have to explain herself to anyone. This is the best relationship she’s ever had, which is a huge surprise. Even when Miranda clams up about something important, if Andy pries hard enough, everything pours out. This is the most shocking thing Andy has learned about Miranda; she is far softer and more needy than expected.

 

When Andy thinks about what she and Nate had, she has a few regretful pangs. But when she gets to spend time with Miranda, those regrets dissolve into thin air. Then there’s nothing but Miranda, and the two of them together, and it feels absolutely right.

 

She unlocks the gate to the garden, then the back door to the house. The kitchen is quiet, but there’s soup simmering on the stove. It’s not a lot, but it’s enough for Andy to have for dinner. She hopes Miranda doesn’t mind if she eats in bed tonight, because she plans on climbing the steps exactly once. And she’s too lonely to eat down here in the empty kitchen. She fixes herself a bowl with some crackers and starts the long haul up to the third floor. At the top, she turns toward the second door on the left and pushes it open with her foot.

 

Miranda is in bed, looking as miserable as Andy feels. They stare at each other for a moment, till Miranda groans pitifully. “I’m sick.”

 

Andy puts her tray down on the nightstand before stripping off her clothes. “I’m sorry, honey. If it’s any consolation, I feel awful too.” Her night clothes are on the back of the door in the bathroom, and she pulls them on. They’re cool against her skin, which is overly sensitive and hot. Back in the bedroom, she puts the tray down on the mattress and climbs into the bed, careful not to spill. “Thanks for dinner.”

 

“Welcome,” Miranda replies, a wrist against her forehead. She eyes Andy. “I had such plans for tonight,” she says mournfully.

 

Andy is just as disappointed. She does so love it when Miranda plans ahead. “Maybe we’ll feel better tomorrow.”

 

“Mm,” Miranda says, but she doesn’t sound convinced. “It’s a shame, anyhow.”

 

Andy grins and rubs Miranda’s shoulder lightly. “At least we can suffer together.” She chuckles at Miranda’s eye roll, and glances around the elegant room. “I remember the first time I slept in this room, you know. Last time I was sick.”

 

This draws out a smile from Miranda. “Ah, yes. Thank goodness I had somewhere to put you. I think you may have melted into a puddle if I’d stayed in Nice one extra day.”

 

“More like one extra hour,” Andy quips. “You know, that really was one of the nicest things you’ve ever done for me. Still.” She gives Miranda a full-wattage smile, even though she feels like shit, because her heart knows that Miranda cares. It’s all she’s wanted for a long time. “And I had no idea this was your room.”

 

Miranda gets a snooty look on her face, but Andy can see the humor in it. “Well I wasn’t about to confess my feelings at the time.”

 

“Feelings?” Andy crows after taking a bite of soup. “You had _feelings_ for me?” she teases. This is a frequent topic of conversation between them; Andy enjoys hearing that she wasn’t alone in her longing back then.

 

“My god, you are insufferable,” Miranda croaks. “Leave me alone.”

 

Andy wants to laugh, but she holds it in. “You know I had feelings too.” She glances up at the ceiling thoughtfully. “I’ll always wonder if you promoted me just so you could get in my pants.”

 

With a snort, Miranda turns on her side. “Usually it’s the other way around, darling,” she replies. “And if you weren’t so obsessed with proper punctuation, you certainly wouldn’t have moved up. I’d have helped you find something somewhere else. It had been more than a year, after all, and that’s all it takes.”

 

Eyes glazing, Andy recalls how she and Miranda had moved toward one another the night Miranda told her about the promotion. Their first kiss followed, short but intense, with the promise that as soon as Andy moved on, there would be more. A great deal more, but Miranda thought they should wait, so Andy went along with it. She smiles, the memories of her fantasies still potent even after months of excellent sex. By the time they actually got around to the making love, Andy had been with Miranda in a thousand ways in her mind, and the reality matched imagination very nicely indeed.

 

“I know what you’re thinking,” Miranda says, tucking her hand in the back of Andy’s pajama pants. “I’m thinking about it too. I just can’t do anything.” She huffs in dismay.

 

“Tomorrow,” Andy reminds her. “Or Sunday.” She finishes the last of her soup and sets the tray down on the floor. “In the meantime, we’ll just have to sleep.” She snuggles under the covers right up to Miranda, tucking her face against a pale throat. It’s a little warm, between their fevers and body heat, but it’s kind of nice too. And she really does think that it’s better that they’re together, even if Miranda snipes at her for kicking her during the night or keeping her awake with her sneezes. 

 

“Did you take anything?”

 

Andy nods. “Tylenol PM.”

 

“Good. Now don’t move for the next twelve hours.”

 

Andy sighs in contentment, and rubs Miranda’s hip. “Yes, ma’am.” She closes her eyes, and looks forward to being better, and to everything that will come after that.  



	4. The Upper Hand

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Xander, as always.

 

Andy’s been at her desk for a couple of hours when she sees a shadow hovering over her; it’s Nigel, and he has a weird look on his face. “Hey,” Andy says. “What’s up?” She wants to ask _what’s wrong_ , but has learned to stay positive on the surface when everyone else starts freaking out.

“Got a minute?” he replies.

“Of course.” Nigel strolls to his office, and Andy follows, and she starts to get nervous when he closes the door behind her. “Have a seat.”

Andy does. She crosses her legs and waits attentively, but Nigel doesn’t say anything for almost a minute. Emotions flit across his face quickly, ending with a faint grimace before he looks down at his desk.

“So, listen,” he begins, “when did you start sleeping with your boss?”

The actual experience of being discovered is dramatically different from what she anticipated. She thought she might be nervous or panicked, or even angry. None of that compares to this utter terror, the kind that makes her feel frozen and hot and shivery all at the same time. Her mouth goes bone dry, but she manages to utter, “Pardon?”

“I don’t want to mince words here, Six. I’m crazy about you, but this is the kind of thing that ruins careers.” He gazes at her sympathetically. “I’m looking out for your best interests.”

Three different responses fly through her head. Nonchalant: “It’s none of your business. Take it to HR or shut up.” Followed by anger: “Fuck you! Nobody can tell me who I can love!” And of course apologetic: “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, please don’t make me quit!”

However, she goes with the easiest, but potentially least effective option: Denial. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She is impressed she got the words out at all, and they sound completely normal.

Nigel huffs, exasperated. “Oh come on, Andy. Everyone’s noticed. You don’t hide it very well.”

Andy is astonished. She and Miranda have barely been within ten feet of each other at work for the last three weeks. On top of that, they almost got busted in the 20th floor bathroom by the cleaning staff a month ago. They go for quickies far more sparingly now, which is okay, since they are getting enough “alone” time at home. Andy’s practically living there, unlike at the beginning when it was all stolen moments and excitement. To her relief, even though the thrill has worn off a bit, she still enjoys every second with Miranda. They are going strong, and the kids have accepted it, despite some acting out once they figured out what was happening.

And as much as she’s imagined Nigel sniffing them out, and even planned a reaction, right now she has no clue what to say. So, she repeats herself. “I still have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“All those meetings the two of you have? And you go running into his office fifty times a day. I’ve seen it before, and it won’t end well, for either of you. Particularly since he’s married, which I’m sorry to bring up.”

Andy stares, and blinks, and when Nigel’s face doesn't change, she says, “His office?”

“Your boss’s office, darling, get with the program. Lucien has two kids at home, and for god’s sake, did you have to prey on the only straight man within spitting distance?”

The weight lifts off Andy’s chest, and she does the only logical thing: she bursts into laughter. It’s loud laughter, too, filled with joy and freedom and happiness. She leans forward and has the urge to throw herself out of the chair onto the floor, but thinks that might not be the best choice. Nigel appears to be waiting patiently behind the desk, and he is not amused. “Oh, geez,” she wheezes, grabbing a tissue from his desk and wiping her eyes. “I’m so sorry, Nige. But seriously, that is hilarious.” She looks directly into his eyes and says, with as much earnestness as she can muster, “I am not having an affair with Lucien. I swear.”

“I’m not the only one who picked up on it,” Nigel insists. “Gemma said you two were behind closed doors for hours the other day, no calls going in or out. People are whispering. It’s not my imagination.”

Andy keeps the smile on her face, but irritation is starting to creep in. It shouldn’t be, considering that she is sleeping with her boss, and his, but he doesn’t know that. “Then it’s some kind of collective delusion. Does anybody count the number of times you go ‘running’ into Miranda’s office all day long? And if you must know, Lucien asked for my help to rework the James Carey piece on the police cover up of the Morningside shootings last year. He wasn’t happy with the two passes James made at an edit, so we sat down and worked on it.” She looks for understanding on Nigel’s face, but finds none. “If you don’t believe me, ask him.”

“You’re telling me that Lucien came to you for help instead of using one of the higher level editors here? Of which we have many?”

Andy sighs. “They have their own projects—there’s a lot going on. I had the time, and I’m good, Nigel. You know that. I have no intention of spending the rest of my career writing about scarves and necklaces. Lucien and I talked about it a while ago, and he offered to work with me on a few things to see how it went. He’s been very happy with me, and not because I’m blowing him under the desk.” Her anger grows exponentially. “If you and the rest of the staff around here have time to spread rumors about co-workers, I might have to let Miranda know that the lot of you doesn’t have enough to do. I don’t think she’d be very happy to hear it.”

Nigel’s face hardens. “I don’t think Miranda would be very happy to hear that you and your direct supervisor are having an indiscreet dalliance on company time.”

Andy smiles, and it’s a nasty, mean smile. “I can guarantee that Miranda wouldn’t believe a word of what you’re saying. One million percent.”

“You sure have a lot of trust in her, considering how she treats her minions.”

 _You mean how she treats you,_ Andy thinks. But she can’t get involved in the power dynamics between Nigel and Miranda. She almost did once, in Paris, and she knows her life would have turned out very differently if she had. “Maybe.”

Nigel takes a deep breath, and sags back into his chair. “Well, I have to say I’m relieved. I thought you’d cave and confess right away.” He watches her, and Andy’s anger begins to recede. “So you’re really not sleeping with him?”

She shakes her head with certainty. “The thought never even crossed my mind.”

Nigel’s eyebrows rise. “Really? He’s gorgeous. You can’t tell me--”

“Whatever.” Andy rolls her eyes. “I can’t believe you’d even think that of me.”

“Why?” Nigel asks. “You’re human. Emotions can run hot, and sometimes things happen, especially in such close quarters.” Andy presses her lips together, knowing exactly how right he is. She only feels a little guilty for lying. “I’d understand. I wouldn’t like it, and I’d ask you to stop, but I’m glad I don’t have to.”

“Listen, Nigel, I want this thing diffused as soon as possible. Now that I know it’s going around, it’s not exactly a good environment for me to work in. And poor Lucien!” She thinks for a moment, and adds, “Besides, why did you start this conversation with me first? He’s the one on the executive team in the supervisory position. He’s way more of a risk than I am to the company.”

Nigel shakes his head. “I wanted to be certain of what was happening before I spoke to him. And believe me, I would have. Trust me.” Andy wants to, but it’s tough. “I don’t care one way or another if he’s a faithful husband, but if anything goes on in the office it’s another story.”

Andy supposes that might be the case. She wonders for the thousandth time what Nigel will say when he finds out who she’s really with. He’ll probably be humiliated, and it might ruin their friendship, but she can’t help that. Nigel’s a great mentor, but the gulf between them has widened since her promotion. Before, she was just a little assistant he could mold and shape; now, she’s a woman who doesn’t take shit from anyone, least of all him. It’s partially because she always feels Miranda at her side, like an invisible source of strength. If she needs something, Miranda is there for her. That sense of protection has helped Andy mature a great deal, and she is more willing to take risks. She is brave enough to say yes to Lucien when he asks her to work harder and do more, because Miranda believes in her, and that makes her believe in herself.

As Andy gazes out the window behind Nigel’s head, she wonders how much of this Miranda should hear. Probably everything. She doesn’t usually snitch on her co-workers, because that could ultimately be the thing that outs them to everyone, but in this case, she’ll tell. Miranda’s either going to laugh her head off, like Andy did, or be extremely pissed. Or both, which is the most likely result.

“Nigel, I don’t want to talk about this again. I’m not having an affair with Lucien, and I really, really need you to believe me. I’m—well, I don’t know what else to say, but I’m disappointed.”

Nigel shrugs. “It’s the nature of the business. Better you hear this from me rather than someone else. And now that I know the deal, we can nip it in the bud.”

“Good.” She smiles at him, as best she can. “Thanks.” Now that this is out in the open, she’s uncomfortable and wants to get the hell out of this office. She asks, “Is that everything?”

“Yep, we’re done. And Andy, I really am sorry. I’m glad I was wrong.”

She nods. “I appreciate that.” As she walks back to her desk, she gets a few looks from some of the other women in the hall, but she just gives them all sunny grins. Glancing at the clock on the wall, she starts counting the minutes till she can go home and talk to Miranda.

\---

“He what?” Miranda exclaims. Unlike Andy, Miranda skips right over hilarity and goes straight to livid. “You’re not serious.”

And tries to cool her down with a little humor. “Hey, I’m not chopped liver. It’s not that unrealistic that they’d pair me up with Lucien.” Miranda purses her lips. _Okay, that was probably the wrong tactic._ “I just mean, well, hell, I don’t know. I guess of all the people in the office, I’m not that surprised. I’ve really looked up to him. He’s a good mentor, and there’s no weird tension or competition between us. For some of the other editors, they think anybody could stab them in the back. Me included.”

“So they stab you first,” Miranda drawls. “I am not happy about this, Andrea.”

“Me neither. It was… an uncomfortable meeting. Particularly since I thought we’d blown our cover.”

“How do you mean?” Miranda impales a shrimp on her fork and devours it, chewing with vigor. It makes Andy love her all the more.

“I mean, Nigel started out by asking how long I’d been sleeping with the boss.”

Miranda inhales sharply, and Andy is alarmed until she realizes that Miranda is not in the process of choking to death. “Well I see how that would have been… inconvenient phrasing.” Miranda actually laughs. “I suppose that means he really hasn’t a clue about us then. That’s nice.”

“True,” Andy says. “But I was mad. Does everyone always assume the woman is at fault in situations like that? Like I somehow lured him into an office romance? Lucien’s an adult, older than me, and he’s the one who would have the upper hand if we were seeing each other.”

Miranda stops eating for a moment. “You mean like I do.”

That makes Andy sit up a little straighter. “Well, that’s not what I meant. But, when it comes right down to it, yes, you do. Have the upper hand, I mean.”

Miranda watches her carefully. “Do you really believe that?”

Exasperated, Andy goes back to eating. “It’s not that hard to comprehend, Miranda. You have the wealth, and the position. I’m younger, and I don’t have money or status. You have to admit that the power dynamic between us is a little uneven.”

“It’s never perfectly even in any relationship, Andrea,” Miranda says slowly. “One could say that you have the upper hand in our relationship as well.”

“How’s that?”

“You have less to lose, obviously. You have no children in the public eye, no ex-husbands who would take a swing at you given the first opportunity, no enemies who would make this the kind of thing you couldn’t survive, politically.” Miranda sips at her wine thoughtfully. “And there’s the emotional element, as well.”

Andy doesn’t follow. “What’s that mean?”

Miranda inhales, and holds her breath until she lets it out in a gust. “It means that you have less to lose emotionally, of course. You’re young. You’d recover very quickly if we… broke up.”

The words sound strange coming out of Miranda’s mouth. Stunned by the admission, Andy lets her fork drop to the plate. “Are you kidding?”

A long pause stretches between them. “No,” Miranda replies. Her voice is soft.

Andy doesn’t know whether to be upset or not. “Do you really think I could just move on and get over it? Get over you?”

Miranda looks down at her plate. “More easily than I could.”

The truth dawns on Andy; their conversation is no longer about workplace flings. This is Miranda telling her how much she loves her. “You’re wrong, Miranda.”

Glancing up, Miranda meets her eyes. “Oh?”

Andy nods. She lets everything she feels show on her face, but Miranda can be obtuse sometimes. “I love you,” she says firmly. “Heart and soul.”

Miranda sits with this for a minute, and Andy doesn’t break their gaze. “I love you too,” she finally replies. Andy reaches across the table for her hand, and Miranda meets it halfway.

Andy wants to make it easy between them, so she takes a shot. “So we both have a lot to lose, then. We just have to make sure we don’t screw it up.”

Miranda smiles. “Right.”

That seems to do it; Miranda picks up her fork again, and Andy relaxes. “Still. You’re right that Nigel may have erred in his judgment of how to handle the situation. He took advantage of your friendship. I don’t know what he was thinking.”

“I just hope it all blows over quick.” Andy has a thought. “Will you say anything to him about this?”

With narrowed eyes, Miranda gazes into nothing. “Not directly. Or even indirectly. But I will, shall we say, keep my ear to the ground. I’m surprised I hadn’t heard anything about this before now.”

“Me too. I thought you had spies everywhere.”

Smiling slyly, Miranda replies, “Oh, I do. Never fear.”

Andy chuckles. She doesn’t fear. Not when it comes to Miranda.

\---

Three days later, Andy sits in on the features meeting. Nigel is there, as usual, as is Lucien and much of the other editorial staff. The table is full, and the discussion is straight forward until the last five minutes.

Out of the blue, Miranda begins, “I had a read-through of James Carey’s cover-up article, and Lucien, I agree that his edits were sub-par. I’m very pleased with the work you did with it.”

There’s a distinct snap to attention amongst almost everyone in the room; apparently Nigel has spread the word of Andy’s explanation. Lucien, on the other hand, is as relaxed as usual. “Thank you, Miranda. I brought in Andrea in a test run, and she was stellar. I’m very happy with her work.”

Miranda blinks slowly. “Her work?” she prods.

“Mm,” Lucien agrees. “We spent some time on the article recently, and within a couple of hours, it was ready for delivery.”

“Time here, in the office?” Miranda asks lightly.

Lucien looks confused, but Andy sees Nigel cover his eyes across the conference room table. “Yes?” Lucien answers, though it sounds like a question. “A few hours, last week.”

“Good,” Miranda nods. “Well, I’m very glad to hear that you’re spending your time behind closed doors effectively.” Glancing around the room, Miranda glares at much of her staff, excepting Andy. “I like to know that my people are making efforts to work together in a productive manner whenever appropriate. Not to mention professional.”

The room is utterly silent. Miranda glances at Nigel. “Is that clear?” she asks him.

Nigel swallows. “Loud and,” he replies.

Andy hadn’t expected that, but it’s gratifying. She looks down at her blank notebook page and hides a smile.

On their way out of the room, Lucien sidles up to Andy. “Did you think there was anything strange about the way Miranda asked about that article? She seemed… I don't know.”

Andy shrugs. “Me neither. But I guess she was happy with the end result, right?”

That brightens Lucien’s mood. “C’est vrai. That’s all that matters, oui?”

“Oui,” Andy replies, and pats him on the shoulder. “Thanks again, for the chance.”

Lucien nods appreciatively. “It’s only the first of many opportunities, Andrea,” he says, pronouncing her name the way Miranda does. “You have much talent.”

Andy gets shy, but replies, “I appreciate that, Lucien. Truly.”

Back at her desk, Nigel strolls by. “Hey,” he says.

“Hi.” Andy makes a valiant attempt to school her expression into blankness.

“So I guess Miranda knew what was up. Shows what I know.” He eyes the white ceiling briefly. “I feel like an idiot.”

“It’s okay. Just don’t tell Lucien, he has no clue what happened. And he would be mortified.”

“Right,” Nigel says. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “I’m going to have a two martini lunch. Care to join?”

“No thanks. I’ve got plans.” She doesn’t, really, but would rather not hang out with Nigel this afternoon. She is still smarting, even though he’s been smacked down. “Have fun.”

“Your loss,” he says, and skulks back to his office. The door closes as some of the other editors filter back through the workspace.

“Nice job on that article, Andy,” Jocelyn says, and Andy smiles back at her. She’s one of the nicer people here; she doesn’t see Andy as a threat, not to mention she spends most of her time focusing on keeping Miranda happy.

“Thanks.”

Nobody else says anything to her, and fifteen minutes later, she grabs her purse to get some lunch. She plans on taking her full hour today, and tucks a book in her bag on her way out. As she heads toward the elevators, she catches Miranda sweeping out of her office, coat over her arm. She looks down her nose at Andy before turning and strutting away. Andy smirks and trails after her, and the moment reminds her of the old days, except back then, she doubts that Miranda would be swinging her ass in quite that same way.

At the elevators, Andy waits silently next to Miranda for a car. When one arrives, Miranda gets in, and Andy waits till she receives the impatient nod she was waiting for to follow.

They are quiet for the first few seconds, until Miranda says, “That was very satisfying.”

Andy grins. “For me too.”

They only have a few seconds more to be alone, and ever aware of the cameras, they keep their distance. “We’re having duck for dinner. Be home by eight?”

The question mark at the end of the sentence hangs in the air, and Andy appreciates it. “Wouldn’t miss it.” Andy wants to hold her hand as they walk out into the cold December air, but she doesn’t. Instead she waits for Miranda to exit first, and watches her pull on the soft marino coat. She strolls slowly out, all the while keeping an eye on Miranda as she gets in the sedan waiting at the curb. The car drives by slowly as Andy stands on the corner, and she can’t help but laugh.

She is so looking forward to dinner. 


	5. The Cut

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It took a while, but here’s the next bit in my [Sick Day](http://chilly-flame.livejournal.com/37489.html) series, following [The Upper Hand](http://chilly-flame.livejournal.com/40190.html). Thanks to Xander for the read through!

 

Andy’s shoulders are hunched over the computer; she knows she needs to improve her posture, but right now, she has more important things to worry about. Namely, the rewrite on the summer scarves piece, which was approved last week but has since been unapproved now that Miranda has some time on her hands. As usual, Miranda micromanages everything in the magazine, which makes Andy a little crazy, but then again, after Andy read the piece, she realized Miranda was right. A few months ago Miranda sent down an edict to broaden their editorial text to appeal to not only the very wealthy but those aspiring to wealth as well. The advertising climate is shifting with the financial collapse, and it was “suggested” to Miranda that Runway increase its willingness to shoot for a larger demographic of active readers who actually buy items featured in its pages. Advertisers used to believe that the cachet of appearing in Runway was enough to bolster sales, but those days are over.

Like any intelligent leader, Miranda balked privately, but agreed publicly. After a while, she decided that it was the correct choice, especially considering where the markets are at this stage. Instead of worrying about the future, Andy focuses on her daily grind, and listens to Miranda’s concerns when the day is done. She has a far greater understanding of the business side of the magazine now than she ever intended; Miranda is remarkably free with her conversation when they are next to one another in bed. She divulges nothing secret, but she’s not ashamed to confess her concerns and uncertainties. In a way, this is a burden to Andy, but mostly it’s a privilege that she deeply appreciates. Miranda tells no one else these things, Andy is certain, so she holds the weight without regret.

These nightly conversations also tell Andy that Miranda has far more heart invested at work than anyone at Runway would believe. Sometimes Andy thinks that Miranda should play a little nicer at the office, but it’s not her place to say so, and she keeps her mouth shut. Then again, Andy’s a little less nice than she used to be. She doesn’t deal with idiocy well, and has much less patience for incompetence. She’s still considerate, but she’s also more open to cutting someone off at the start of a bad idea rather than wasting her time listening to something she already knows she won’t agree to. At first she didn’t even realize she was doing it, until Lucien brought it up once over lunch in the cafeteria. He approves, which makes Andy feel okay, but it makes her question if she’s inadvertently taking on Miranda’s traits.

It doesn’t really matter, though. Andy has less time than ever to suffer fools, since they are down an editor. She is doing two jobs while Stella is out with pneumonia, and today she ended up with the scarves piece. She cuts and rewrites with vicious precision. As she finishes the second paragraph, she notices that the normal sounds of office chatter have gone silent, and she looks up.

Miranda is staring at her with a piercing expression, one Andy can’t decipher. She doesn’t look mad exactly, but…

Then she remembers.

Oh. Whoops.

It’s Wednesday, and Miranda was out of the office all of Tuesday in meetings. They didn’t see each other last night, because Miranda had two evening events and Andy wanted to clean her dusty apartment.

This is the first time that Miranda’s seen Andy’s new hair cut.

She touches the blunt slant of hair that now hangs just to her chin, longer in front and shorter in back. It’s stick straight, which probably won’t last, but everyone has told her how stylish it looks.

Andy had some thoughts about Miranda’s reaction to her new look. In fact, some of those thoughts were not very… pleasant, which is why she insisted on going to her own apartment last night instead of to the townhouse. Miranda has always enjoyed Andy’s hair long. She’s never said straight out that Andy shouldn’t cut her hair, but then again, Andy didn’t even bring up the idea that she’d been thinking of changing her style.

But she had been, for a while. She considers the cut a multi-layered statement. “I make my own decisions.” “You’re not the boss of me. Except at work.” And, “I know you like my hair, but I’m cutting it just to see what happens.” That last one, Andy is ashamed to admit, is a big part of the change. It’s a power play. She wants to test Miranda, and test herself at the same time. Andy never thought a new hairstyle would be such a huge decision. But it is, at least when your lover is Miranda Priestly.

Ten seconds pass, give or take, and no one moves. Miranda blinks, eyebrow raised. “Hmm,” she says, and stalks off in the direction she was originally headed, toward the main conference room.

Jocelyn exhales a huge breath from her perch on Stella’s empty desk. “What was that all about?”

Andy shrugs. “Maybe she didn’t like my hair.”

Jocelyn chuckles. “Don’t know why. I think its smashing.”

“Thank you,” Andy replies.

“Me too,” Gavin adds, from his desk a few feet away. “I meant to tell you earlier. It’s very sophisticated.” He’s kissing up, Andy knows, because he’s new on the job and trying to make a good impression. But he’s nice enough, and if Andy plays her cards right, she’ll be able to pass off much of her current workload to him. She’s been in her current position a short eight months, but a long-time features assistant editor named Sasha just bailed for Elle. It was a good move; after her departure, Lucien told Andy straight out that Sasha wouldn’t have been promoted internally if she stuck around.

“Some people don’t have what it takes,” Lucien had said. “Sasha didn’t put in the time, or the effort. Elle might be a better fit for her, but you never know.” Lucien had eyed her speculatively. “Are you interested in her spot?”

Andy had nodded.

“It’s a little soon, but I’ll get back to you about it in a few weeks.”

Andy expected to put at least a year in as an editorial associate before any thought of promotion to assistant editor. But the position is within reach, and she wants it. Badly. It’s the exact opposite of everything Andy expected out of a career, but something happened once she moved off Miranda’s desk. She discovered she is good at this job, and she enjoys the work. It’s kind of embarrassing to like researching fashion, but Andy has a taste for it now, and it’s addicting.

Of course, Miranda is addicting too. Miranda finds it very attractive when Andy suddenly reveals an expertise in the evolution of silk production through the ages, or when she waxes poetic about fractals used in computer fashion design. There is so much more to know, and learn, and Andy has become hungry for it, both for herself and for Miranda.

Her parents are confused, and Andy doesn’t know what to tell them. She still wants to work for the New Yorker, or the National Review, or the Times. But this is her life now. Work, and Miranda. She likes who she is, and especially likes knowing that she does great work and is appreciated by smart, interesting people. It’s good experience too. All those jobs that were supposed to open up after she spent a year as Miranda’s assistant will still be there when she’s ready to move on.

The one drawback is the inability to “come out” as Miranda’s lover. They are happy together, or so Andy believes. They haven’t talked much about going public for a thousand reasons, but it’s getting harder to keep her feelings secret. Not at work; that wall is easy to maintain there, because Miranda wears her professional face very well. But in her friendships, it’s like living two lives. She has told exactly no one about Miranda, and it’s sad that she can’t share stories about Miranda’s quirks, or the things that drive her crazy, or the things that make her smile.

It’s still worth it. It will always be worth it. But once in a while, she’d like to have lunch with Miranda in her office, or out at a nice restaurant. It’s unlikely; she’ll have to leave Runway for anything like that to happen. It’s funny—for so long she yearned to get out of this office and get on with her life, and now she wishes she could stay for good.

Head down, she keeps at her work until her phone buzzes on her desk. She glances at it. It’s Miranda.

BR, it says.

Andy rolls her eyes.

Can’t, Andy replies. too much work.

We need to talk.

Andy gets a queasy feeling in her belly. They wouldn’t break up over a haircut, would they? Miranda’s not that nuts.

redoing the scarves piece you requested. tonight I’m all yours. if you still want me.

Andy hits send and looks up at Nigel, who is staring down at her with a raised eyebrow. “I’ll take that,” he says, hand out and open.

Andy chuckles and stuffs the phone in her pocket. “Sorry, boss man. I’m almost done.”

“Usually when children are caught playing with toys during the school day, they have to hand them over to the teacher.”

“Ha ha. I promise I’m on it.”

“Fine, fine,” Nigel says, and Andy relaxes. “I can’t believe you have time for a boyfriend, anyway. What’s he think about the new hair?”

Andy is embarrassed to feel her face flush a deep red. “Um, I—I, well—“ She hasn’t out and out lied to Nigel before about having a boyfriend. She’s implied she’s attached, but hasn’t said anything more. “I can’t say,” she replies, finally. As soon as the words leave her mouth, she wonders why she didn’t just say she was texting with a friend. He wouldn’t have known the difference.

Nigel eyes her, tilting his head. “Huh. I’m—“ He blinks at her, clearly wanting to know more. But he’s been less inquisitive in the last few months, perhaps sensing Andy’s reticence to share. “Well, I love it. It’s very sharp. And Miranda likes it too. It certainly caught her eye today.”

Andy swallows against a dry throat. “That’s good. But I’m not sure she does. Not that it matters, but—“

“No, she likes it. I know these things.”

Andy smiles weakly, and hopes he’s right.

\---

Andy stays later than usual that night; it’s nearly nine when she puts her computer to sleep. She is mortified to be so anxious, but that doesn’t convince her to head to Miranda’s any sooner. But when she heads for the exit, she sees Miranda’s light on, and Alexis is at the second assistant desk, reading a magazine. Andy considers walking by as if she doesn’t notice the young, well-put-together woman, but ultimately she decides she’d better say something.

“Hey, Alexis,” Andy says. “Have a good night.” She glances over her shoulder toward Miranda’s chair. “Think you’ll be here late?”

“Oh, I—“ Alexis begins, but she’s interrupted by the soft voice that wafts out from the inner sanctum.

“Andrea,” Miranda says, and Andy has a funny flashback to the early days last year when she was utterly terrified of her boss. She grins, and shrugs at Alexis.

In the office, Andy waits in front of Miranda’s desk for a few moments, and she’s tempted to whistle a little tune in her impatience. She doesn’t, fortunately. When she finally sits down, Miranda glances up. “Hmm,” she says.

Andy’s guts twist. “Hi.”

Miranda looks over Andy’s shoulder at the open door that doesn’t really separate them from Alexis. “I’ll be leaving shortly. Did you eat?” Her voice is so quiet that Andy has to strain to hear her.

Andy doesn’t know what she expected Miranda to say, but whatever had crossed her mind, it wasn’t about dinner. “Um, no. I had a snack a little while ago.”

“James is keeping dinner for us. We’re having lamb.”

On command, Andy’s stomach growls. She covers her mouth, trying not to laugh, but Miranda’s smile warms Andy right up. “Sounds good,” she breathes. “Very.”

At that, Miranda leans forward, and asks Andy straight out, “Will you take the promotion when Lucien offers it to you?”

Andy inhales. Of course Miranda would know if Lucien was considering her, but Andy had tried hard not to think about it. There’s no avoiding it now. “I’m not sure. It hasn’t happened yet.”

Nodding, Miranda leans back. “I think—we should, or rather—“ Miranda lets out an exasperated huff. “Alexis,” Miranda calls out, voice raised.

The girl’s heels scuff the marble before she appears in the doorway. “Yes?”

“Bring me a latte. Decaf.” She adds with a raised eyebrow, “Hot.”

“Of course, Miranda. Just the—“ she glances over at Andy. Whatever she is about to ask--Andy’s sure that she wants to know if Andy would like one too—dies on her lips, and she departs in a flurry of clacking down the long hallway.

Andy relaxes a bit in her chair, and lets her eyes soften as she gazes at Miranda. “Convenient.”

“Well I had intended to wait till later to discuss this, since you so succinctly put me off earlier—“

“I was working!” Andy declares. “I just got the project this morning!”

Miranda rolls her eyes, “Yes, yes, I know. Regardless, it’s important. It’s your decision to make, of course.”

Andy watches Miranda, and wonders what she’s thinking. The wheels are turning behind her eyes. “What do you think I should do?”

Miranda’s lips are pressed together, but her eyes never leave Andy’s. “Take the job. Lucien has assured me that you’re ready.” She licks her lips. “It does put a, well, kink in… everything else.”

Andy glances over her shoulder out of habit. No one is watching, or listening, she hopes. “You mean about us.” Miranda nods her assent. “That’s been on my mind too. But I can do that job, Miranda. We both know I can. No matter who I go home with at the end of the night, I’m good for Runway. I have more to offer than almost anyone else at my level, and even though I’m not a walking encyclopedia—“

“Andrea, you don’t have to sell yourself to me to get the promotion. Lucien is only waiting for Stella to come back to work before he makes the offer.” Gazing at the ceiling, Miranda adds, “And if you were taking a position at another magazine, I would tell you to negotiate up to what you’re worth.” She shakes her head. “God, this is not what I imagined for either of us. I should have sent you to Vanity Fair long ago.”

Andy gapes at her, open-mouthed. “I could have gone to Vanity Fair and you didn’t even tell me?”

Miranda seems to wake up at Andy’s words, as though she is surprised to have spoken her thoughts aloud. “At this stage, I would have had to ask for a favor, which I do not care to do, and it would have been another assistant position for someone below the editor in chief. A step down in both pay and responsibility.”

That mollifies Andy, a little. “Well, okay. I just wish I’d known about it.”

“There was no ‘it’ to know, darling. But I had the thought, simply to make it easier on myself. Without you here, there would be far fewer complications. Then again, I’d lose your talent, and enormous potential.” Miranda’s lips curl upward. “Not to mention your pretty face. Which is well-framed by that lovely haircut that you neglected to bring up last night when we spoke.”

Andy chuckles and looks down at her hands. “I was nervous.”

Miranda frowns. “Whatever for?”

Andy stares in amazement. “You’re joking, right? You, of the many lessons in belts and hats and shoes and what not to wear, telling me I shouldn’t be nervous when I get a new haircut and don’t ask for advice beforehand?”

“It’s your head. I don’t care if you shave it all off, you’d still be as breathtaking as you were the day we met.” Miranda is looking down at her nails when she says this; it’s typical for her to avoid Andy’s eyes when she is giving heartbreakingly sweet compliments. “In any case, you made a good choice. But the real question is, how do you feel about it?”

Andy shrugs. “I like it. It makes me look—“ Older. She narrowly avoids saying even though it’s true. “More sophisticated. And smart.”

“You’re both those things, so we can just assume the new cut has done its job. If you like it, I like it.” She sighs, and stands, which means its time for Andy to go. “And Vanity Fair’s not going anywhere. I only wish…” She trails off.

“You think there’s no way for us to make it work, with both of us here?” Andy is disappointed, because she doesn’t want to go.

“I’m not… I don’t know. But I’ll admit that it’s rather tiring, putting on the facade. It’s no one’s business. But it is business, which means I shouldn’t be telling you how to negotiate a job offer.”

Andy sees real regret in her expression, which makes her feel rotten. “Come on, Miranda, the whole world knows that you should always ask for more than what you’re offered. It’s not like you’re revealing top secret information.” She winks. “But I appreciate the tip.”

“Fine, fine. Now disappear. I’ll leave in fifteen minutes. Tell James for me?”

“Happily. I’ll open the wine before you get home to make sure it’s up to snuff.”

“The wine is already breathing, and if you take one sip before I walk in the door, you will be very, very sorry.”

Andy wants to walk around the desk and give her a hug and a kiss before leaving. Instead, she stands and awkwardly waves. “See you soon, then.”

“Very,” Miranda replies. She doesn’t smile, but her eyes warm in a way that makes Andy’s heart swell to bursting within her chest.

It’s a close call, but Andy manages to leave without going in for the kiss. At least for now. Later tonight, it will be a whole new ballgame.


	6. Busted

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a follow up to my Sick Day series, following The Cut. Thanks to Xander for the help, as usual! Took a little longer than expected, but here it is.

 

“Don’t mess anything up,” Andy tells Caroline, who has taken a seat behind Miranda’s desk. She immediately spins the chair in circles, once, twice, three times. “And don’t make yourself sick,” she adds. Caroline giggles. “I’ll be back in five minutes. You haven’t heard from your mom, have you?”

Caroline pulls her phone out of her pocket as the chair continues to revolve. Andy feels dizzy just looking at her. “No text yet.”

“Cool. Just let me know if she calls.” Andy’s work Blackberry died an unexpected death on Saturday, so she’s phoneless until IT can replace it Monday. Cassidy is at the park skating with some friends, while Andy took Caroline to the Guggenheim for the afternoon. They’re heading back to the townhouse for dinner, but Andy’s not sure when they’re due. Miranda has been focused on the book all afternoon; the next issue is coming together too slowly, and Andy decided to help out by picking up some work from the office. She has two articles in process, and they don’t need to be completed until Wednesday, but she’ll have time tonight since Miranda is distracted.

She just needs to load the two articles onto her flash drive and she’ll be on her way. She boots up her computer and hears the whirr of the hard drive, only to go into supreme panic mode when Jocelyn pokes her head out of her office. “Hey, Andy! What are you doing here?”

Andy swallows thickly. _It’s not a big deal_ , she thinks. _I’ll just get the articles and go_. “Oh, just have a few things to get done before tomorrow. What are you up to?”

Jocelyn rolls her eyes. “Miranda wasn’t happy with the last shoot that Jeffrey handled, so I’m stepping in on the Saratoga feature.”

Andy feels her eyebrows climb up her forehead. “Does Miranda know that?”

Jocelyn shrugs. “It’s not a problem. Jeffrey’s a lovely gent, but sometimes I wonder exactly how he ended up in fashion. He just needs someone to hold his hand for this one.”

Andy hears the frustration in her voice. Andy doesn’t think that Jeffrey’s much of an asset to Runway, but it’s not up to her who Nigel hires. He’ll have to deal with the aftermath if Saratoga doesn’t go well, but it might be important for Miranda to know that Jocelyn is taking on more than her fair share of responsibility. Dear, thankless Jocelyn, who Miranda steps all over because the woman doesn’t have a spine. Fortunately she does have a kick-ass sense of style and design, which is why she still has a job at Runway. Andy likes her, but she needs to cut this short before

“Andy, Mom just texted!” Andy hears Caroline shout from afar, as is her habit. She isn’t visible, but she’s running toward Andy’s desk, which is bad, so very bad-- “She wants to know if you want fish or duck for dinner, because James is going to the market, but I think we should have fish because Cassidy-” Caroline almost skids to a stop in front of Andy, not unlike an old-fashioned cartoon character. She has spotted Jocelyn, and her mouth is open, eyes bright with fear. “Uh.”

“Caroline?” Jocelyn says, confusion in her voice. She knows both girls, from photos and occasional visits to the office “What are you--”

“Nothing,” Caroline barks. “I just--” she looks at Andy, searching for help.

Everyone is silent, until Andy finally says, “Caroline and I went to a museum today.” What lie could she come up with inside 30 seconds that would sound remotely plausible?

Jocelyn glances back and forth between them. She’s thinking, but the numbers have yet to add up. “And you’re having dinner with--”

“Miranda,” Andy sighs. “Sometimes I have dinner with Miranda.”

Caroline reaches out and takes Andy’s hand. She knows what’s at stake, even though Andy and Miranda don’t talk much with the girls about how hard it is to hide their relationship at work. But they understand that they can’t discuss Andy with anyone yet, and they don’t complain.

“Dinner,” Jocelyn repeats. “With Miranda. That’s… nice.”

Andy sighs, and turns to Caroline. “If you want fish, that’s fine with me. Let your mom know we’ll be there in half an hour, okay?” Andy is careful not to use the word “home.” Caroline nods, and squeezes her hand before rushing off. Andy blinks at Jocelyn, who hasn’t moved. “So,” she says, out of ideas.

“I didn’t realize that you and Miranda were… friendly. I mean, I suppose it’s only natural, right?”

Andy smiles and shrugs her shoulders. Leave it to Jocelyn not to go directly for the prurient explanation. “Yep.”

“But it’s funny, you spending time with her Caroline. It’s awfully…” Andy waits for it, and she’s not disappointed. Jocelyn inhales, and her understanding is complete. Andy almost laughs when Jocelyn’s pale cheeks blush a deep red. “Oh,” she says.

“Well, Caroline and I, we’re simpatico.” Andy’s not exactly sure what she should say. Beg Jocelyn not to talk? Tell her Miranda will put out a contract on her if she does? Ultimately, she decides she’d better be transparent, because otherwise, she’ll look like a fool, and so will Miranda. She’s not ashamed of what they are to each other. “Cassidy’s more like Miranda--she does her own thing. But I get along with them both, which is pretty lucky. Because I really care about Miranda.” She avoids the word love; there’s no need to completely freak Jocelyn out, thinking that someone loves her terrifying boss. Or vice versa. “I care about her more than anything. I like my job, too, so we just… don’t talk about it. You know what I mean?”

Jocelyn is still blushing, but at least she can bear to look Andy in the eye now. “I--I didn’t realize. I--”

“We weren’t together when I was her assistant,” Andy says, suddenly desperate to make that clear. “It’s not like I, well, I mean, I earned my job because I worked hard. The other stuff just sort of… happened.” Her ability to articulate has flown out the window.

“I didn’t think that,” Jocelyn says, and she seems honest. “Lucien can’t sing your praises enough, and I’ve seen how well you clean up after some of the freelancers.” She takes a breath. “You’re just so young, and so pretty--it never even occurred…” A hand covers her mouth. “Oh my god, and that whole thing about you and Lucien last year--when Gemma was so sure--” Jocelyn starts to laugh.

Andy chuckles, because she figures she ought to join in. “Yeah, that was a little off base.”

“If she only knew--” Jocelyn’s face changes. “Oh, Andy, I won’t say a thing. Miranda--she’s been very good to me, and I’ve always thought you were a lovely girl. It’s no one’s business, least of all my own.”

Andy feels a little relieved not to have to ask for silence, and she supposes she’ll just have to trust this woman who now wields a great deal of power over her. Thank goodness it wasn’t someone else. She shudders to think what Nigel might have said. “Thanks. We’d both appreciate it.”

There’s an awkward silence, and Andy notices her computer’s empty login is waiting on the screen. “Well, I should get my stuff and hit the road--”

“Oh, of course,” Jocelyn says, backing away, both hands waving nervously. “I won’t keep you. Have a good Sunday, and, give my best to, er, Miranda.”

Andy smiles and slides into her chair. “I will,” she replies, and watches Jocelyn disappear into her office. With an enormous sigh, she logs on with her password and sets out to retrieve her files. Files she will undoubtedly not be able to focus on very well tonight, if at all.

A few minutes later, she returns to Miranda’s office to find Caroline whispering on the phone. “Hey, you ready?”

Caroline glances at her and says into the phone, “We’re leaving now. See you.” She hangs up and grabs her bag off the floor. “Andy,” she says, breathless. “I didn’t mean to give you away--what’s Mom going to say--”

“Don’t worry, honey. It’s all going to be fine. Jocelyn isn’t going to say anything, and even if she did, it wouldn’t be so bad.” She strokes Caroline’s hair, and the girl throws herself into Andy’s arms. “Oh, Caroline, it’s really okay. And it’s no one’s fault. It just happened. I promise you, your mom will be fine.” Her voice is so calm and certain that she almost convinces herself that what she’s saying is true.

Almost.

\---

Before Andy can even get the townhouse door closed, Caroline shouts into the empty hallway. “Moooom!”

“Caroline, relax,” Andy hisses. “Don’t get hysterical.”

Caroline’s temperament is a mystery to Andy, even now. She is calm and graceful 95% of the time; butter wouldn’t melt in her mouth. She rarely argues with anyone, is agreeable to a fault, and every once in a while Andy wishes she would be a little more emotional. She’s nice, and sweet, and other than the first month or so when Andy started spending time at the townhouse, she’s never spoken a bad word in Andy’s presence. In this way she is the polar opposite of Cassidy, who curses up a storm when Miranda’s not around, tells anyone and everyone exactly what she thinks, and will bicker with Andy over anything just for the sake of argument.

But at this very moment, Caroline is about to come out of her skin. Anxiety pours off her. Andy was even concerned she might make herself sick in the car. The girl wrings her hands as Andy follows her into the kitchen.

“What on earth are you screaming about, child?” Miranda says from her seat at the kitchen table. The book is in front of her, and James is stirring something over the stove. “It can’t be the end of the world.”

Caroline actually looks as if she might start hopping on the tips of her toes. Andy rolls her eyes, and goes for it. “Jocelyn was at the office today,” she says, very quickly. Better to get it over with in one stroke of the ax. “We--I, well, when she saw Caroline and I together, she figured it out.”

Miranda’s milk-white complexion goes chalky, and from the corner of Andy’s eye, she sees James turn the heat down on the stove. He interrupts Andy’s train of thought, muttering, “I’ve got to uh, take care of something--just stir this every few minutes, okay?” He leaves without waiting for a reply.

Long seconds pass. “You’re joking,” Miranda says.

Caroline vibrates next to her, so Andy puts a hand on her head. “It was no big deal. She was totally nice about it. I’m 100% sure she’ll keep it to herself.” She is convincing, and is impressed with her own skill at lying smoothly.

Andy senses the war going on within Miranda; she can see the storm of expressions skirting across her face. She wants to yell at someone, very quietly; fire someone; make someone pay. Andy has to diffuse that before someone gets hurt. The two people she is worried about most are Caroline and Jocelyn. She doesn’t count herself as a part of the equation, because she believes she can handle Miranda at her most insane. She’s probably wrong, but it’s a lie worth believing.

“Are--” Miranda glances at Caroline. She takes a deep breath before she speaks again. “What exactly happened?”

Andy ushers Caroline into a seat at the table, and Andy sits down next to her. The girl is silent while Andy recounts the entire story, complete with as much detail as possible, including a word for word regurgitation of everything they both said. Miranda listens intently, and doesn’t interject except to jerk her head in Caroline’s direction when Andy mentions that everyone thought Andy was sleeping with Lucien last year. Andy just sighs and continues, and when she’s through, the room is hushed.

She gets up to stir the pot on the stove. Leaning over it for a whiff, she identifies it as tortilla soup. It smells delicious. “Can we eat soon?” She’ll need some sustenance if she wants to get through the evening, and no one comments on the non sequitur.

Caroline is still wringing her hands. “Mom, don’t be upset. I’m really, really sorry.”

Miranda seems to realize that her daughter is utterly tormented, and finally, her face relaxes. “Oh, Bobbsey, don’t worry. I’m sure Andrea is right,” she says, holding out her hands and urging Caroline in for a hug. “Honestly. Besides, what’s the worst that could happen?”

Andy considers the question. Could it be either of them losing their jobs, along with having to deal with the public vilification? Andy doesn’t mind the idea of being outed, but she hates the idea of everyone believing she doesn’t deserve her job. And that’s just what might happen.

What will happen, eventually. Because she and Miranda are going to go public at some point, and the majority of people will think that Andy is a no-talent hack who screwed her way into a promotion. Two promotions, inside a year.

Just because it’s not true doesn’t make it any easier.

\---

That night, Miranda is a little cool. She doesn’t speak much more about the incident, but she isn’t snappish either, which is a plus. When Cassidy hears the story, she just announces that Miranda ought to fire Jocelyn if she says anything. That’s a silly idea, and Andy tells her so, but Cassidy says that Jocelyn had better keep her mouth shut or she’ll be sorry. Andy wonders if Cass knows a kid who has parents in the mob, because she sounds awfully sure of herself.  
  
When it’s time for bed, Miranda tucks the girls in without Andy’s help. Sometimes Andy joins in, but not tonight. Instead, Andy lies in the bed and tries to fight the anxious, upset stomach she’s had for a few hours. She’s not ill, but she’s going to have a sleepless night.  
  
Andy closes her eyes when she hears Miranda come in, because she doesn’t much feel like talking. The space between them feels enormous, and a great sadness is welling up inside her.  _It’s not my fault_ , she wants to cry out. What will happen to them when more people know? Miranda might pull away altogether, and they’ll lose each other in the ensuing disaster. It’s a horrible, horrible thought.   
  
She listens to the sound of her own heartbeat for a while, till Miranda slides under the sheets next to her. The room is quiet until Miranda says, “Are we not speaking?”  
  
Andy inhales, and glances over. “No,” she says, and it sounds like a plea. “We are. I just… don’t know what to say.”  
  
“There’s no need to defend yourself. I’m not angry.” Miranda reaches a hand out and covers Andy’s shoulder. “It was unfortunate, I’ll admit. I am curious to see what happens next, but whatever it is, we’ll deal with it.”  
  
Andy is relieved; the feeling is so sweet and overwhelming that only then does she realize how miserable she’s been since the second she saw Jocelyn that day.  
  
“Come here,” Miranda says, so Andy rolls into her arms. She exhales and shuts her eyes.   
  
“I can deal with this,” Andy tells her. “As long as we stay together, I can deal.”  
  
“Who said anything about not staying together?”  
  
Andy lifts her shoulders in a shrug. “People break up for all sorts of reasons. Maybe you wouldn’t want to do this again. You’ve been through it before.”  
  
“I have,” Miranda replies. “But you haven’t.” Miranda’s fingers twirl a loose curl in Andy’s hair. “What are you expecting?”  
  
“Oh you know, typical press bullshit.”  
  
“Details, please.”  
  
Andy considers what she ought to say, versus what she really believes. She decides on the latter. “They’ll say I fucked my way into the job. Or that you only keep me around because I’m good in the sack. Or that I’m some kind of trophy girlfriend for you, a way for you to stay young.” She shakes her head in disgust. “People will be cruel.”  
  
There’s a pause. “You are good in the sack,” Miranda says lightly, and Andy glares up at her.  
  
“Hey!” she says indignantly.  
  
Miranda is almost laughing. “Well there’s nothing we can do except move forward. People will say what they like, and it’s important for us to ignore it.”  
  
Gazing up in hope, she asks, “Do you really think that’s possible?”  
  
Miranda nods once, firmly. “Of course. Anything is possible if one puts in the proper effort.”  
  
As she nudges Miranda’s knees with her own, Andy decides it’s time to get used to all the scary things she’s been thinking of. No matter how unfair it is, it’s reality. Maybe it’s a good thing that Jocelyn busted them this afternoon, because it will force Andy to confront the consequences of her choices.   
  
All of which she’d make again, without a second thought.  
  
“Okay,” Andy finally says, pulling Miranda closer and sliding her palm down Miranda’s back to cup her ass. “I’m in.” Her skin is hot through her silky nightgown.   
  
This time Miranda’s laugh is low and sensual. “You’d better be,” she rumbles, “because I’m not going anywhere.”  
  
“Well, this is your place,” Andy quips in reply, tension floating up out of her body, replaced by warmth and tingles. “So you’ll have to toss me out, won’t you.”  
  
“I suppose,” Miranda breathes, pulling down the unsexy boxers that Andy morosely donned earlier. “I hate these shorts.”  
  
Andy’s reply is quick. “Then take them off.” She’s overheating, and with Miranda biting at her ribcage as she wrestles with her clothes, her temperature skyrockets.  
  
Miranda’s tongue flicks down her belly, and Andy forgets her misery at once.   
  
Later, she falls asleep easily as Miranda snores in her ear.  
  
\---  
  
Five days later, Andy sits at her desk working furiously. She wants to get out at a reasonable hour; it’s Friday, and she’d like to start her weekend on time, if not early. Miranda’s got an event tonight, so Andy has to be home with the girls for dinner and a movie. James is making fresh pasta, which they’ll fold into ravioli.   
  
She hears a cacophony of footsteps behind her coming from the conference room. The senior exec meeting must be over, which means she’ll probably have an editor hanging around her desk in a few short minutes, asking if she has time to handle “just a small project.” It’s happened almost every Friday since she accepted the assistant editor position, but most of the time she doesn’t mind. She enjoys feeling valuable, even if it means she ends up working late.  
  
However, when an editor appears at her desk, she isn’t asked to do extra work. Instead, Jocelyn crooks a finger in her direction. “Do you have a minute?” she whispers.  
  
Andy saves her work and nods. “Sure.”   
  
She follows Jocelyn to her office, and shuts the door when Jocelyn waves her hand toward it. “What’s up?”  
  
“Did you tell Miranda that I helped out on Saratoga?”  
  
Andy immediately goes on alert. “I might have,” she says cautiously.  
  
Jocelyn beams. “She said I’d done ‘good work.’ Can you believe it? I don’t remember the last time she’s complimented anyone other than Nigel in a meeting.”  
  
Andy’s stomach turns over a little. Even though Jocelyn is excited, Andy hopes that Miranda isn’t offering false praise as a thank you for not spilling the beans. “That’s great. I know she liked the photos.”  
  
“Nigel decided to put me on the Martha’s Vineyard shoot we’re doing for the next issue. I’d wanted that one more than anything--and I was so certain Jeffrey would get it. But Nigel told me privately after the meeting that he was wrong to give Jeff so much to do right out of the gate, and that he should have trusted me more.” She shakes her head. “I never expected that.”  
  
The mention of Nigel eases Andy’s mind. She doubts Nigel would hand off that shoot if Jocelyn didn’t deserve it. Then again, she feels somewhat guilty that she second guessed Miranda, who is not one to offer commendations lightly. “Congratulations. I’m so glad! Really.”  
  
“I think for a long time Nigel didn’t have much confidence in me, which is partly my own fault. I’ve… well, I’ve been making an effort to be more self-assured at work. I used to complain a lot to my husband, and he asked me why I was so obsessed with everyone else’s approval. But to tell you the truth I never thought I was strong enough to survive at Runway for more than a year or two, and here it is almost five and I’m still employed.” She looks down at her desk, a little shy. “Miranda isn’t the easiest person in the world to work for, if you don’t mind my saying.”  
  
Andy laughs. “No, I don’t mind.”  
  
“She scares me, still. And Nigel--he’s smart and sure of himself, and he’s so close to Miranda that I felt like I’d never measure up. But last year, when he brought Jeffrey on, I thought he made an error in judgment.” Jocelyn blanches at that. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this.”  
  
Andy’s interest is piqued. “You don’t have to, but my lips are sealed, Joss. Really.”  
  
Jocelyn takes a breath. “I think Nigel hired Jeff because he liked him on a personal level, rather than professional. And I believe it was a mistake for the magazine. I’m surprised that Miranda hasn’t said anything to him about it, but maybe she hasn’t noticed. Nigel’s good at being protective when it suits him.” She leans forward. “I’d appreciate if this didn’t go any further.”  
  
Andy rolls her eyes. “You’ve got dirt on me, so consider us even. Besides, I don’t run to Miranda every time someone talks to me in the office.” This is certainly true; if Andy kept a record of all the shit people had said about Miranda over the last 18 months, the whole staff would have been fired. Twice.  
  
That seems to calm Jocelyn’s concern. “I suppose. Anyway, perhaps Nigel has realized that Jeff’s not all he’s cracked up to be. So I get Martha’s Vineyard.” She smiles. “I just wanted to say thank you for letting Miranda know that I was involved. Jeff couldn’t take all the credit, which I expect he would have.”  
  
Andy says, “You should stand up for yourself when that happens, Jocelyn. You’re so quiet--make yourself heard. Miranda will listen.”   
  
“I know, I know. I’m trying, believe me.” She shivers. “I don’t know how you can be with someone so… commanding. She just strikes me as so cool and collected. Is she really like that all the time?”  
  
Andy opens her mouth, torn. She’s been thirsting for someone to talk with about Miranda. Even though she adores Miranda and their tiny circle consisting of exactly two daughters and one housekeeper, it’s kind of lonely. But before she can say more, Jocelyn speaks up. “Don’t answer that. I’m sorry for even asking. It’s private.”  
  
Andy relaxes with a little chuckle. “It’s okay. I guess you could say Miranda is similar, but not quite the same at home. Besides, I’ve always been attracted to powerful people.” This is a convenient lie; her two serious boyfriends prior to Miranda were nothing at all like her. Nate was a strong guy, but he had a tendency to whine, and Jason, from her freshman year in college, was Miranda’s exact opposite. Then again, Andy was quite different back then too. She’s evolved. And now Miranda’s power is an intense aphrodisiac that Andy has no intention of detailing to Jocelyn. “And seeing her with her kids made me understand that she’s not just an editor in chief, you know?”  
  
Jocelyn nods. “I can see that. And I’ve been curious. You can smack me for asking, but how long have you been… seeing each other?”  
  
After briefly considering what to say, Andy answers truthfully. “After I moved over here as an associate.” She neglects to mention that it started literally the second after Miranda promoted her.  
  
Her eyes grow wide. “That long? That was--well, it’s at least a year, isn’t it?”  
  
“Not quite.” Their anniversary is a little more than two weeks away.  
  
“My. I’m impressed. I never would have thought anything was going on between you.”  
  
“That’s the idea.”  
  
“How long will you--I mean, it must be hard to not tell anyone at work about something so important. What will you do?”  
  
Andy sighs, because she’s still not sure about that exact thing. “I don’t know. It’s a lot to think about.”  
  
“Of course. Well, if you ever need to talk, my door is open.”  
  
Watching Jocelyn carefully, Andy tells her, “I might take you up on that, so I hope you’re serious.”  
  
Jocelyn laughs. “I am. I think I can take it.”  
  
Andy enjoys the feeling of companionship; she’s spent so long keeping everything locked up that it’s a relief to reveal even a tiny bit. “Cool. Maybe we can have lunch next week, if you’ve got time?”  
  
“Absolutely.”   
  
Andy stands up and grins. “I’ll check your calendar and we’ll go somewhere fun. I’d love to talk about your ideas for Martha’s Vineyard.”  
  
“Don’t worry, I’ll talk your ear off. Now, scoot--I know you probably have plans tonight.”  
  
“Just with the kids. We’re making pasta.” Andy enjoys the look of surprise on Jocelyn’s face. “Hey, I like being a homebody.”  
  
“That’s sweet. Have a nice time.”  
  
“I will. And congratulations again,” Andy adds before heading out.   
  
Back at her desk, she settles down to work once more. A few minutes later, she hears Miranda’s staccato steps moving toward her desk, and she glances up. Catching her eye, she blinks once and tries not to smile. Miranda’s expression probably matches her own; her lips twitch, and her eyes warm infinitesimally. Then she’s gone, back toward the conference room with Nigel and Gemma on her heels.  
  
It might not be an ideal situation, but it works for them.


	7. Step Up

 

Lucien is the one Andy speaks to once she decides to move on from Runway. She’s been there long enough, and even though her next move might kill her career, she’s ready.

Apparently, Miranda’s ready too. She’s the one who asks Andy how long they’ll have to wait for what Andy has now termed the “big reveal.”

“What?” Andy had squawked as they lay next to one another in the king-sized bed. They’d both been reading—Andy an extended essay in the New Yorker, and Miranda the Book, as usual.

“I just wondered how much longer you want to keep this under wraps.” Miranda had drawn a neat little line with her red pen across a section of text deemed unnecessary. “I don’t mind waiting longer, but it’s up to you.”

Andy had just sputtered. There had been no warning, just the straight question, out of the blue in the silence of the room. “Up to me? You’re not serious.”

With that, Miranda had glanced over, lowered her reading glasses, and said, “I am completely serious.”

“But I thought—I think—“ Andy paused, flummoxed. “I think it should be a decision we make together.”

Miranda had sniffed. “Well, consider my half of the decision made.” She’d pushed her glasses back up her nose and returned to her work. “If you’d like me to start asking around, say the word. Let me know when you’re certain.”

Certainty is the last thing Andy needs to achieve; she’s been sure she loved Miranda for well over a year. Acceptance is more of what she aims for, not of her relationship, but of the understanding that she will not be able to control others’ perception of her. After weeks of uneasiness once Jocelyn found out about them, Andy has grown used to the idea, and figures that now is as good a time as any. Particularly since Miranda is ready.

Normally, Miranda doesn’t hint when she wants something—she simply tells Andy exactly what she wants. Her clarity often leaves little room for interpretation. Examples: “I want an aubergine blouse for my birthday. There’s one in Donna Karan’s new ready to wear collection; phone Siegfried at the store on Madison and have it delivered.” Or, “Wear the black Malizia tonight. I want to know what I have to look forward to after dinner.” This makes life much easier than it had been when she was an assistant, when Andy was constantly trying to guess what Miranda needed or wanted 18 hours a day, and dreaming about it the other 6.

Two weeks after their extremely brief conversation in bed, Andy thinks it’s time to get a move on. Not long after she finishes her morning latte, she walks into Lucien’s office and shuts the door.

He glances up in surprise. “Good morning,” he says, then frowns when he sees the look on her face. “You need to talk?”

Andy nods. She has planned what she’ll say, but anticipating the other half of the conversation has never been her strong suit. “You might not like it though.”

Lucien’s frown deepens, and he pushes his laptop away. “Tell me you’re not leaving,” he says firmly, then glances at the ceiling at Andy’s extended silence. “Oh, merde. Just when everything was going so beautifully.”

“I’m not going yet,” Andy assures him. “I was, well, I was hoping you might be able to help me look around for something that might suit me. Something outside Runway.”

“But Andy, I thought you were so happy here. You never complain, you’re always cheerful—“ At her laugh of disbelief, he adds, “You always seem cheerful at least, and you’re exceptional at your job. One can’t fake that sort of dedication. I was certain you were in it for the long haul.” He sighs, and leans back in his seat. “What’s changed?”

It’s on the tip of her tongue; after confiding in Jocelyn, it seems safe to tell him. She resists the impulse. “It’s always been my goal to do more writing, serious writing, in the long term. I could try freelance, but I’ve so enjoyed being part of the team here that I’d like to do more of that, just not so much in fashion.”

His eyebrows rise. “But you know fashion. You’re as sharp as anyone here about designers, save Nigel and Miranda.”

Andy shakes her head to deny it, even though it pains her to do so. She’s spent an inordinate amount of time poring through collections from decades past, including quite a few nights at home browsing Miranda’s library of Runways in the upstairs office. She focuses on the task at hand, doing her best to convince him. “I know fashion, but I don’t live it, or breathe it. I hate to do this to you, but I’m just… yearning for something more.”

Lucien stares at her for long moments, and Andy wonders if he suspects. Eventually, he glances at his computer. “I’ll send out feelers. I can’t believe I’m doing this for you. Nigel will kill me. No, I will kill myself before he kills me.”

Laughing, Andy says, “Oh, stop. You’ll be fine. And who knows how long it might take to find something else? I am happy here, and I enjoy the work. And the company I keep.” She gets anxious briefly. “You’re not going to fire me, are you?”

“Ridiculous,” he mutters, shaking his head. “If I didn’t adore you so much, I would never have agreed to this. And of course your departure will help you to make more filthy lucre, after which you may return to Runway and ask for even more. It is how the world works, so think about how much you want to be making, oui?”

“Okay,” Andy replies, thinking that may be the perfect plan. Leave, come out, get some experience, come back. Work and live with Miranda, openly. It’s like a dream.

“Now go away. I have to mourn a little in private.” His hands return to the keyboard, and Andy is urged up and out of her seat by the sound his computer makes when an email arrives.

“Got it. Let me know if you hear of anything, okay?”

“I won’t. Now, shoo.” He waves a hand, and she departs with a grin.

That went far better than she expected. She wonders how long she’ll have to wait to hear.

\---

Four weeks pass with Andy scouring the job boards online, never asking Miranda for a hand. She absolutely won’t involve her in the search. One Tuesday morning, Lucien stops at her desk and motions toward his office. Hope flares in Andy’s chest, and she follows him in.

“So,” Lucien begins, dropping into his chair. “A friend, Anna, is an associate copy editor at Vanity Fair, and she’s looking for an assistant.”

Andy’s heart sinks. “I didn’t really want to start out as an assistant all over again—“

“No, no, an assistant copy editor. It’s a good step, not lateral. They had a round of layoffs a few months ago and she’s short-handed. It’s a risk, I’ll be honest—they’ve cut their staff a great deal over the last three years. But Anna is extremely competent, and I’ve told her all about you. She’d like to speak with you, this week if possible.”

Andy inhales, trying hard to control the strange combination of nerves and excitement that have just come over her. “Wow. Seriously, Lucien. Wow. That is… amazing.”

He looks unconvinced. “Runway is healthy right now, Andy. Miranda is good at her job, and no matter how much Irv complains about her, she has cut costs this year without having to lose headcount. I don’t know if Vanity Fair is experiencing the same success.”

Andy doesn’t want to tell him that money doesn’t matter so much; although she contributes to the bills on a monthly basis, she wants for nothing. And she’s actually fine with that, to her surprise. Being taken care of is not something she aspired to as a child, but it’s turned out to be remarkably comforting as an adult. She also knows how much Miranda enjoys pampering her, so it’s difficult to resist. “I’m not that worried about long-term—who knows where the business is going. I don’t really see any job as permanent, but I think it’s a great opportunity. I’d love to get in touch with her.”

He hands her a card. “Call her today, if you can.”

She laughs. “I’ll call her right now!”

“Fine, fine,” he scowls. “Not in here. I don’t want to hear the beginning of my misery first-hand. I don’t know how we’re going to replace you.”

“Thanks, Luce. You’ll never know how much I appreciate this.”

He almost smiles, but hides it with a huff of exasperation. “Stop being lovely and go away, I have work to do.”

She leaves, grabbing her phone and heading to the 20th floor. She parks herself in the hallway, pad in hand, not far from the bathroom where she and Miranda used to “spend time.” Five minutes later, she hangs up and texts Miranda.

_busy?_

She waits thirty seconds, and gets a reply. Have a few minutes.

 _BR?_ Andy replies with a grin. She hadn’t really planned to get busy today, but it’s as good a place as any to give her the good news.

There is almost no wait time before the answer: _be right there._

Andy waits, and has an idea. In thick letters, she scrawls a sign and shoves it into the tiny space between the bathroom door’s narrow frosted window and its wood frame. OUT OF ORDER, it reads. It’s far from official, but it will probably work. In fact, even Miranda hesitates because of it, knocking softly before Andy opens the door.

“Hi,” she drawls, beaming.

Miranda’s eyebrow rises. “Hello.” There’s a funny moment of awkwardness between them; it’s been months since they’ve had a daytime quickie, but Miranda remembers quickly enough and moves in for a kiss. “Oh,” she sighs, “I forgot how much I missed this,” she purrs. There’s another kiss, and another before Miranda backs them into their regular stall and locks the door.

Andy is warm as Miranda’s hands smooth over her backside, short nails raking over the soft cotton of her trousers. When Miranda nibbles her ear, the warm turns to hot, and she gasps happily. They kiss some more, their rhythm slow and steady, pushing against one another before Andy starts to ease Miranda’s zipper down so she can get her hand down the front of her skirt. That works much better than pulling it up; they’ve learned to avoid wrinkles whenever possible. Miranda bites at her lower lip in a wordless groan when Andy’s hand touches skin, damp and swollen. “Not inside today,” Miranda murmurs, and Andy has no problem with that. She finds her goal and circles, teasing enough to get Miranda revved up. Miranda’s breath catches, and she tips her head back for Andy to attack her throat with little nips of her teeth. Miranda’s legs spread as she leans back against the wall more heavily while Andy works her magic. Miranda’s blouse is thin and silky; she can’t lick through it because she’d leave a conspicuous wet spot. Instead she just noses down, leaving a trail of lipstick against Miranda’s pale skin till she reaches a nipple. With that Miranda jumps, covering the hand between her legs. “So good,” she whispers while Andy sucks and rubs her into an orgasm that takes Andy by surprise. Usually it takes a little longer; Miranda must have already been up for it when Andy called. As she pulls her head away from Miranda’s blouse, she notes the remnant streak of red and reaches for some toilet paper to wipe it away.

But Miranda doesn’t want to wait for Andy to clean her up; instead she grabs Andy’s head and devours her mouth. Andy loses her breath when Miranda lowers herself to the ground, unzipping Andy’s trousers as she goes. “Don’t—your knees—“

“Don’t worry,” Miranda says with a dark smirk. “It won’t take long.”

Andy can do nothing but nod as Miranda’s mouth falls against her skin in an open mouth kissed that swallows her whole. Andy has nothing to hold on to, so she leans against the wall and tries not to squeal when Miranda flicks her tongue in and out. Miranda wasn’t kidding—she’s really into it today, and her hum of delight sends a vibration through Andy that starts her ascent into orgasm. “That’s it, that’s it,” she pants, “oh yeah,” and again, “That’s it,” and she’s there, her cry muffled as she shoves her face against her arm.

She sighs deeply, and contentment settles over her. Even though she has such big news, she wants to revel in this feeling for a little while longer. Carefully she helps Miranda up off the floor, dusting off knees that are a little red, but otherwise unscathed.

“I can’t believe you did that,” Andy laughs, finally going after that red lipstick streak across Miranda’s chest.

“Only for you,” Miranda says, and Andy knows it’s true. “That was unexpected, but well-timed. I had hoped that we could find some alone time this evening.”

“Maybe we still could,” Andy says, with a subtle leer. “I could be up for it.” It’s been a while since they’ve had a two-fer, and Andy’s hopeful. Particularly today.

Miranda smiles, and Andy knows they’ll be up late tonight. “That might be nice.” She leans in for a kiss, soft and satisfying in its thoroughness.

“Um, this wasn’t all I wanted to, uh, talk to you about though,” Andy says, hating to break the mood, but knowing that Miranda is busy and will have to get back to the office.

“What’s going on?”

“It’s Lucien. He gave me a lead on a job today.”

Miranda’s face doesn’t change much, but Andy notes the flicker of anticipation in her eyes. “Oh?”

“At Vanity Fair. Assistant copy editor.”

“Hmm,” Miranda says. “Are you interested?”

“Absolutely. Don’t you think I should be?”

“It’s not that,” Miranda assures her, tucking some hair behind Andy’s ear. “It’s only that the copy desk is exceptionally detail oriented, and won’t allow a great opportunity for much originality. I’d hate to see your creative impulse stifled.”

Andy shrugs. “Sure, but it’s at Conde Nast, and once I’m in, who knows—maybe something at The New Yorker might open up. I could always try to meet people—“

“Darling, you will meet people. Don’t trouble yourself about that,” Miranda says, and Andy remembers that she isn’t only reaching for a new job. She’s going to be a fixture on Miranda’s arm, in public. At parties, and dinners, and benefits, and who knows where else. “I simply don’t want you to leap into the first open position on impulse. Think carefully about it before you choose. All right?”

“Sure, I can do that,” Andy says, grateful for the support. Not like she expected anything else. “I think I’d be good at it, though. Lucien talked me up.”

“I didn’t’ realize you’d spoken to him. About looking,” Miranda says, and Andy hears the unspoken question in her voice.

“I only told him I wanted to expand my horizons. Nothing else.”

Miranda nods. “I imagine he was quite disappointed.”

Andy grins. “A bit. He’ll live.”

“I’ll hear nothing but complaints until we fill your position.”

“Hey, let’s not go assuming I’ll just get this spot at Vanity Fair—“

“Darling,” Miranda interrupts her with a kiss, “you’ll get the job. All you’ll have to do is walk through the door and say yes.”

\---

Andy can’t quite believe it, but Miranda’s right. Her first interview is Wednesday afternoon, and the second is the following Monday morning. She finally has a fifteen minute sit-down with the managing editor, and gets a call the next day with an offer. It’s good, but at home, Miranda insists that she can do better. Andy negotiates and two days later, she ends up with a solid bump up from her current salary and an offer letter in hand.

Andy stares at it, the logo of Vanity Fair shimmering back at her with its familiar type and long history. There’s a great sense of excitement brewing in her belly, mixed with a bit of loss. She’s spent more than three years rushing through the white halls of Runway, the early days balancing coffee and blouses, then later printouts and laptops and pages in need of last-minute edits. She’s grown into herself during those years, her amorphous creative drive evolving into a solid career path that will continue to shift and change the longer she spends at it. It strikes her that this is an end to the comfort and safety of working where her lover steers the ship, and that sends a small frisson of discomfort through her. It’s a necessary evil, though, and one that will help her stay focused on doing great work. She smiles as she recalls the nights she used to spend at the beginning of her assistant days, terrified of the one misstep that would send her back out into the big bad world, jobless and broke. Thank goodness she managed to last, otherwise, where would she be?

She doesn’t tell Lucien, or Jocelyn, or anyone about the offer before she leaves work. Instead, she takes it home, signs it, and spends a few pleasant minutes fantasizing about things that are yet to come.

She saves the news until Miranda gets home that night. Her patience comes to an end the moment she hears Miranda unlock the door, and she races toward her and spills everything immediately.

“I told you,” Miranda replies as Andy helps her off with her coat. “I knew they’d want you. You’re exactly right for the job, and they’re lucky to have you.” Miranda’s arms open, and Andy walks into them. “I’m very, very proud of you.”

Tears prick at Andy’s eyes; she feels grateful and happy and filled with hope. “Thanks, Miranda. I love you so much.” She sniffles, and Miranda holds her more tightly.

“Ugh,” she hears from a few yards away, and chuckles lightly as Cassidy retreats into the kitchen. “Tell me when it’s over.”

Miranda kisses Andy’s neck, her lips lingering on the softness behind her ear. “It’s not even close to being over,” Miranda breathes.

Andy nods her head, nuzzling closer. “You said it, sweetheart.”

  



	8. Lucky (aka The Reveal)

 

Andy hates making the short walk to Nigel’s office, but she knows she has to get it over with. She’s been thinking a lot about his reaction; their relationship isn’t strained, but it’s focused only on work these days. It’s been this way for a while. No single thing changed between them, but after he confronted her about her “affair” with Lucien, she started feeling different about him. Not long after that, whatever curiosity he may have harbored about her personal life vanished.

What's worse is that her departure may end their friendship. Not because she’s leaving, but because of Miranda. She recalls the early days of wanting desperately to share her feelings for Miranda with him, believing only he would understand just how amazing her lover is. After a while, she stopped wanting to tell him, and became far more focused on hiding. Though it was tough to admit, she started seeing Nigel as a threat. Not to her, but to Miranda. She stopped trusting him to protect either of them. She realizes why this is; he might owe some degree of success in his career to Miranda, but he feels very much under her thumb. Andy is certain that he’s still smarting over Miranda’s coup a couple of years ago over Irv. No matter that the James Holt company didn’t get very far off the ground before it struggled; this past season they didn’t submit a spring collection due to financial trouble. Like so many design houses, they are suffering from the far-reaching implications of the Wall Street collapse.

Nigel is no fool. He knows that Miranda inadvertently saved his ass, even though no one in his right mind would consider it a favor. Jacqueline Follet faltered and was fired after an eight month stint at James Holt International; the company has since gone through two creative directors, and Miranda recently hinted that they might be looking for a buyout. It’s horrible. James has always been an innovative, exceptional designer, but his timing couldn’t have been worse to go global. Nigel would have been on that roller coaster. Could he have saved the day? Miranda doubts it, and as much as it pains her, Andy agrees, though she’s never told Miranda this.

Some things just don’t need to be spoken aloud.

At Nigel’s door, Andy straightens her navy suit jacket and knocks on the door. “Come in,” he croons, and when she walks inside, he’s leaning over the lightbox in the corner of his office. Glancing up, he smiles. “Hey, Andy. What problem can I solve for you today?”

Andy’s heart starts to thump wildly. “Well, it’s not exactly a problem. It’s more like news.”

He blinks. “You’re pregnant.”

Andy bursts out laughing. Some of her tension drains away; that was a completely unexpected guess. “No,” she manages through her giggles, “Not at all. Not even close.”

Nigel exhales. “Thank god. I couldn’t bear to lose you for an extended maternity leave.” He leans back on the stool and motions for her to take a seat. “Talk to me, dearie. Tell me the news.”

Her anxiety returns at mention of maternity leave. She takes a shallow breath and begins. “I’m leaving.”

She lets the news sink in. Nigel’s mouth actually drops. He looks so silly that Andy almost laughs; her nerves have not cooled off now that she’s said it. “What?” he finally says.

“To Vanity Fair. Associate copy editor. I start in two and a half weeks.”

Nigel exhales, almost deflates. “I want to say ‘you’re joking,’ but you’re not. I just don’t want to believe it.”

“You’ll barely miss me--”

“Oh stop. You know you do the job of someone well above your current title with no complaints. I don’t want to hear about how we’ll be fine without you. We will, but it’s going to be a pain in the ass to replace you.” He sighs melodramatically. “And we all know how I like to make everything about me, don’t we. So in an effort to correct that behavior, I suppose I’m forced to say ‘Congratulations’ and ‘good job,’ right?”

Andy shrugs her shoulders. “That would be okay.”

“Congratulations, Six. It couldn’t happen to a nicer girl.” He stands from his stool and Andy pushes up out of her chair to embrace him. “I’m thrilled for you. Gutted, mind you, but thrilled.”

“I appreciate it, Nigel. Really.”

“Now, sit down and tell me how it all happened.”

Andy squeezes his hand and sits again, while he takes the chair across from her. As she relates the whole story, it feels like old times for a few minutes. Nigel chuckles in all the right places, and coos as she describes what it was like to sit with the managing editor for an interview even though it’s only an associate position. He approves of her negotiation skills and ends up applauding as she describes the feeling of satisfaction of sending back her signed offer letter.

“It’s a new feeling, isn’t it. Not the same as getting a promotion where you already work.”

Andy nods, and knows he’s probably thinking about the day he accepted the job at James Holt. “It’s different. I didn’t sign anything when I started as an assistant except an NDA and health insurance forms. And I certainly didn’t negotiate salary. A job was a job, and that was enough.”

“I remember that day, very clearly,” he says, smiling. “That horrible tan jacket. And those shoes. You were adorable.”

“I doubt you called me that then.”

“Maybe. You’ve come a long way, baby. And so have your eyebrows.”

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“Only the ones who might look out for a new job for me at another magazine, were the opportunity to arise.”

The hair on the back of Andy’s neck rises; out of nowhere, she is in treacherous waters. “Well, Vanity Fair doesn’t exactly seem like your genre,” she jokes, her tone light.

“No, but Vogue is. I know everyone over there, but you might hear something before I do. Conde is a little universe all its own, honey.” He polishes his glasses, his attempt at nonchalance unconvincing. “Just keep your ear to the ground, okay?”

“Sure, I will. Always.” She files this information away to consider at another time; it’s not a surprise, but it remains discomfiting to be privy to information that people wouldn’t want Miranda to hear. “Anyway, I’m going two weeks from today, so I’ll have a couple of days to play before I start.”

“Good for you! But more importantly, what the hell are we doing to send you off?”

Andy’s heart picks up its pace again; she and Miranda have been talking about just that. “I just thought about going to dinner. Maybe a club afterward. Nothing special.”

He considers the idea. “It’s a little boring. But it’s not like you’re leaving town, so we can’t do anything too decadent. Wouldn’t want any of us to make it into the papers just as you’re starting a new gig.”

Andy feels heat rising in her cheeks; she laughs to distract Nigel from the fact that she’s blushing. She and Miranda will undoubtedly be “in the papers” just as she’s starting her new gig. She gave fair warning to her new boss that she would shortly be going public with a relationship with a high-profile individual from the fashion world. Anna had assured her that it didn’t matter. As long as the person wasn’t from a competitor, there was no conflict of interest, and even then there was room to maneuver. Andy had waffled over confessing the identity of her significant other, wondering how much trouble it would cause in the office during her first weeks. But it’s too late now; she’d kept her mouth shut, so she has to take what comes.

They make small talk for a few more minutes, and thankfully Nigel never asks about Andy’s love life. They make plans to have a lunch before her last day, and he insists on helping plan her farewell dinner. When she finally heads out, she goes directly to Jocelyn’s office to share the news. With her, Andy feels no anxiety. Jocelyn is a friend, as much as she is a work colleague. Her door is open, and though she looks busy, Andy decides now’s as good a time as any. She closes the door and breaks the news—her reaction is the opposite of Nigel’s. She lets out a little cheer and throws her arms around Andy, truly overjoyed.

“I can’t believe it! My god, didn’t you only just start looking?”

Andy nods. “Lucien got me an interview. I really have him to thank.”

Jocelyn grins. “And Miranda had nothing to do with it. Well done. I’d hoped for you—I know how hard it’s been to keep things under wraps.” Jocelyn looks around, her voice low. Andy chuckles; Jocelyn is hypervigilant about Andy’s privacy, even in her own office. “What does Miranda say?”

“She’s really happy.” And proud, Andy reminds herself with a little frisson of pleasure. She takes a deep breath. “We’re going public.”

Jocelyn’s eyes grow wide. She shakes her head. “Are you nervous?”

“Yup, but we’re both done with hiding. I can’t wait for it to be over, honestly.”

“What’s the plan?”

“We’re not a hundred percent sure,” Andy replies. “But we’ll probably do something, go out somewhere after my last day. Make a public appearance, you know? We’re not having a press conference, but figured if we show up somewhere and have a romantic dinner, someone will notice.” She winces. “They’d better figure it out, though. Neither of us is much for public displays of affection. I might be able to convince her to hold my hand for a minute or two for the paparazzi.”

Jocelyn nods sagely. “That should be enough.” With a shiver, she adds, “I still can’t get over it. Although I’ve never seen you and Miranda outside work, so it’s hard for me to imagine what you’re like together.”

Andy can understand. She’s told Jocelyn about many kind things that Miranda does for her, but it’s nearly impossible to relate that person to the one who rules the magazine with such power and presence. Runway Miranda is steel to the core, while Andy’s Miranda has a hard shell that masks a deliciously mushy center. That mush was on display when flowers arrived on her desk today, delivered by courier. The card read, “Congratulations, from your sweetheart.”

Andy easily recognized the writing as Miranda’s. Which meant she’d gone to a florist, picked out a bouquet, and ordered them in person. Such a simple thing warmed her heart. It made her even more excited to show her affection to the world after so much concealment.

Jocelyn waves her hand in front of Andy’s eyes. “Earth to Andy. Are you still in there?”

“Sorry,” Andy replies sheepishly. “Just thinking. Um, you were saying?”

“I wanted to know when you start the new job.”

Andy tells her, and invites her to her farewell dinner, wherever it might be. With that, her main two tasks for the day are complete, and she returns to her desk to do some actual work.

\---

A week later, everyone at Runway knows that Andy is leaving. She’s planned a dinner at Triomphe, a few blocks away from the office. Reservations are made, and she’s counting the days. Not that work hasn’t been enjoyable; she’s leaving, so no one’s handing her any long-term projects. She’s still putting in long hours, but today she finished her final edit to an article that was subsequently approved, so the rest of her days should be cake.

Tonight she snuggles next to Miranda, tired but content. Miranda, on the other hand, is restless. She usually lets Andy drape herself across her body, or they spoon, but not tonight. She’s tossed and turned for the last fifteen minutes. Finally, Andy caves.

“Honey,” she says softly, and Miranda starts. “What’s wrong?”

“There’s nothing wrong,” Miranda huffs. This is a lie, Andy is sure. “I’m fine.”

Andy waits. She watches the faint outline of Miranda’s elegant profile in the near darkness, tracing her way down her nose with one finger. She moves to rub at Miranda's temples, coaxing a moan out of her. Seconds pass, utterly silent.

“Oh, fine. I think I should come to your farewell dinner.” Andy stills her hand. “I’m going to come, I’ve decided. I deserve to be there. I want to be there. All right?”

Andy’s breath leaves her in a rush. “Oh,” she replies, speechless. “Um, okay.”

Mind in a whirl, Andy tries to focus, but this is the last thing she expected. “Are you sure you… want to come out in front of everybody?”

“For god’s sake, we’re not going to have sex on the floor of the restaurant. Or on the dinner table,” she adds for good measure. “I’ll just be there. That should say it all. Someone will leak it to the press. Count on it.” Miranda turns over and faces Andy, leaning over her to snap on the bedside lamp. “Is this a terrible idea?”

Andy’s relieved; the question means there’s some room for negotiation. “I don’t know. It’s unexpected. Can I think it over?”

After a pause, Miranda nods once. “Don’t make me wait long.”

“I won’t, I promise.” Andy means it. This is huge for Miranda. It seems more frightening than just being out in public. On top of everything, Nigel will be there, and who knows how he’ll react. Andy was hoping not to witness his expression when he realizes that Andy’s been screwing the boss, right under everyone’s noses.

Andy shuts off the light, and Miranda pulls Andy’s arm across her waist. They cuddle together, and less than five minutes later, Miranda’s hand starts twitching the way it always does when she falls asleep.

Andy is not so lucky. She lies awake for an hour, then two, going over things in her mind. The right decision eludes her, then again, how should she know the right decision? Maybe it’s appropriate that the Runway crowd will be the first to know; they’re Andy’s friends, if not Miranda’s. At least now they’ll realize where Andy’s been running off to when she’s skipped out on drinks after work.

In fact, as she considers it, she imagines it might be kind of fun. A parting shot. It will certainly cause some drama at the office on Thursday. Andy almost wishes she could be there. Maybe they should have the party on Tuesday night, the night before Andy’s last day. She chuckles, and Miranda stirs next to her.

“Hmm?” Miranda says.

“Let’s do it.”

There’s a silence. “You wanna have sex?” Miranda slurs. She’s barely awake.

Andy laughs again. “No, I want you to come to my going away party.”

“Oh.” She hears Miranda swallow, nudging her head against Andy’s. “Good.”

Andy settles back against the pillow, Miranda’s breath warm against her neck. Decision made, she relaxes, and soon after, she sleeps.

\---

Andy makes plans to have a fantastic last day. She schedules nothing but a lunch with Jocelyn and an exit interview at 4:30. She intends to leave work at 5, go home and change, and meet everyone at Triomphe at 7 sharp.

This is not what happens. Disaster strikes when the phone rings at 6am with news of a canceled interview, and Miranda leaves the bed in a huff. Andy decides it's her duty to help out, so she dresses quickly and makes it to the office by 7:15. Nigel gives her a questioning look, but she shrugs. "I was planning on hauling some of my stuff home before work," she lies, and for some reason, he believes it. Instead of playing Bejeweled on her computer for the entire morning, she starts cleaning up two articles on the docket for next month. After a little waffling, she decides to focus on the Meisel retrospective, for which Miranda personally convinced Steven to contribute a handful of as-yet-unseen photographs to. At 9 she parks herself in front of her computer with a thermos of Starbucks at the ready. Her headphones keep her isolated, and she works straight through until 2, when Jocelyn waves her out of her trance.

"Oh, shit," Andy says. "Lunch."

Jocelyn drops a plastic container on her desk. "It's arugula with walnuts and grilled chicken. Dressing on the side. Happy last day," she grins.

"You're the best, Joss," Andy tells her, breaking open the clamshell with anticipation. "I'm sorry."

"I wouldn't have been able to meet anyway. The cancellation put Miranda in a foul mood, so she took one look at the Victorian punting feature and tore it to shreds. But some of it can be fixed without reshoots, so I'm in with the guys now."

"Good luck," Andy says, her fork halfway to her mouth. "And thanks for saving the day for me."

"My pleasure."

Andy pulls her headphones back on and gets back to work, mechanically devouring her lunch bit by bit. At four, she drops the article with images on Lucien's desk. "See if this will work," she tells him, and the little frown line between his brows disappears for a moment. Without waiting for his reply, she makes a quick exit and grabs her purse. She's going to make a pit stop at Miranda's to pick up her dress for tonight. As she passes Miranda's office, only one assistant is outside, and she's distracted, hovering over her keyboard. Andy makes a split second decision, poking her head into the office to smile at Miranda.

"Hi," she says.

"Hello," Miranda replies evenly, and Andy once more marvels at her sense of utter control in the midst of chaos. "I can't--"

"I just want to borrow Roy for twenty minutes to pick up my dress. You mind?"

Miranda blinks. "Not at all."

"Thanks."

"Are you wearing the new Valentino?" Miranda asks as Andy turns to leave.

"Yep."

Miranda smiles. "Good."

Andy grins back and scoots out as quickly as possible, just in case the assistant might have heard them speaking. It's unlikely; the girl is oblivious to anything other than what's on her computer screen. After a fast text to Roy, Andy waits outside on the curb and slides into the sedan. "Miranda wants me to pick up a few things at the house," she tells him.

He chuckles. "Sure, Andy."

Andy blinks. "Pardon?"

Roy catches her eye in the rearview mirror. He clears his throat. "Nothing." They pull away.

Andy's heart begins to thud, loud and fast. "Seriously, Roy. What did you mean by that? You sound... funny."

There's a long pause. "Listen, Andy, I've been driving Miranda for a long, long time. And you two have been at it for what, at least a year and a half, right?"

Andy can't help it; she gasps.

"I don't care--Miranda's a helluva lot nicer to me now than she used to be. And whenever I've seen you together in the last year, she's treated you better than she ever treated her ex-husbands. That's a fact." Andy can feel the blush streaking down her chest; she thought they'd been so careful. Roy has only driven Andy a handful of times since she stopped being Miranda's assistant. "I don't know what your plans are, and like I said, it doesn't matter to me at all. I just hope that whatever it is works out.”

"Ho--how did you know?" It's pointless to even bother pretending.

"Miranda left her phone in the car one night. I didn't mean to see anything, honest. But your name was right there on a text message. And it was pretty clear that you weren't going to her house for work."

Wanting to sink into the seat, Andy covers her eyes.

"It wasn't sexy. Um, well, shit," Roy says, and this time he's the one who blushes. "It was just a plain old message about you going over there and sneaking in the back way. And bringing a present for the twins so they'd like you. I tried not to look, I swear. But I couldn't... unlook, you know? Miranda never knew. I just left her phone right there on the seat and pretended I didn't find it, and she never asked. The thing locks up after a while, so she didn't have a clue." He shifts in his seat. "And I'd like to keep it that way if you don't mind."

Andy is enormously relieved. "Of course. I wouldn't do anything to put your job in jeopardy, Roy. Especially considering you've been keeping our secret this whole time."

"I wouldn't have known otherwise-- hey, watch the road!" he shouts to a taxi driver who cuts him off. "Sorry. I mean, I barely see you. Just now and then outside Elias-Clarke, and when you've delivered stuff to the townhouse. You've been very discreet."

"Not for much longer," Andy says with a nervous grin. "Today's my last day at Runway. We're going to tell people. Tonight."

Roy hits the brake a little harder than usual. "You're kidding!"

"Not a bit."

"Damn," he says, rubbing the back of his neck. "Congratulations. Where are you going?"

"Vanity Fair. Now that I'm no longer working for Miranda, we felt like it was as safe as it could be to let the cat out of the bag, so to speak."

"Huh. I'm impressed. You've got it going on, Andy. I knew right away when you started at Runway. How long's it been now?"

"Around three years."

"Three years. And you and Miranda are still together after all that craziness." He laughs outright this time. "I'm more impressed at that. Miranda... Takes a certain kind of person to handle her."

Andy is almost offended, but not quite. Roy is exactly right. They pull up to the curb of the townhouse and Roy slows to a stop. "I'll wait. How long will you be?"

"Just a couple of minutes. I really am picking a few things up."

"I'll be here."

Andy hops out of the car and slams the door. She supposes that was a pretty easy coming out. Maybe it bodes well for the future.

\---

Andy laughs as she clinks her glass against Lucien's at the table. The place is warmly lit, and Andy feels beautiful and confident surrounded by her closest Runway pals. There are twelve people at the table, but at Andy's request, the staff left plenty of space for a thirteenth place setting. She's also ordered for Miranda already; when she arrives, the artichoke crostini will be delivered with a glass of pinot grigio, and the seafood will follow a few minutes later with the appropriate sauvignon blanc. Normally they don't hold dishes, but Andy happily dropped Miranda's name, and it worked like a charm. Not that anyone at the table knows this; she arrived a few minutes early to make the arrangements.   
  
Everyone is drinking heartily; Andy downed her first glass of white in fifteen minutes, from a combination of stress and anticipation. She has no clue at all when or if Miranda might arrive, but she's hopeful it won't be after dessert. Regardless, she is having a marvelous time, particularly since Lucien has been so free with his praise of her day's work. Apparently her clean up of the Meisel feature has put the article in prime contention to replace the missing interview, and for Andy's money, this choice will cause the least fuss. She has a feeling Miranda will do it, and it's pleasant to think her final efforts at Runway will make a very obvious impact on the upcoming issue.  
  
"So what are you planning on doing for your four days of freedom?" Gemma asks.   
  
"Oh, you know, this and that. Clean my apartment. Go for a walk. Cook breakfast. Buy some new clothes." Not to mention have sex with Miranda at least twice, because how often did Andy have so much time to plan ahead? Beyond that, she'd be explaining a few details to her parents about her quiet romance with an older woman and former boss. She probably should have done this in advance, but she does not expect them to be surprised. After Nate left, Andy's mom hinted that she knew there was someone else in the picture, however inappropriate it might be. In the last two years, neither of her parents has asked much about her lovelife, other than "Are you happy?" and "Will we ever get to meet them?" Andy did not correct their grammar in the latter case, since it was their way of telling her that they knew more than they said.  
  
"Wow, that's creative, girl," Kenny replies. "Aren't you going to party or something? You're starting a huge new job. You should go crazy while you have the chance!"  
  
"This is me, going crazy," Andy says, taking a long drink of her wine.  
  
Kenny rolls his eyes and runs a hand through his spiked hair. "Doesn't count. Come dancing with me and Gem tonight after this and we'll really get things going."  
  
Andy considers the idea. Maybe if Miranda doesn't show up, she will. "That actually sounds fun. I haven't been dancing in years." That sounds sad as it slips from Andy's mouth, but there's nothing she can do to take it back.  
  
Nigel gapes at her. "Darling, didn't you just turn 28? You're not exactly middle aged. Yet."  
  
"I know. I'm just... you know how it is. Busy."  
  
"You're coming with, and that's final," Kenny declares. He's not exactly flaming, but he's definitely someone Andy could have fun dancing with, especially since she's got Miranda to go home to. He'll look out for her if she asks. Not that she'll have much to worry about at a gay bar, but one never knows.  
  
Andy grins as she wonders if he'll still want to go out with her knowing she's sleeping with his boss. It makes her giggle, and she snares an oyster from the shared appetizer plate and reminds herself she might want to slow down on the vino.  
  
Lucien leans in, wine glass in hand. "You deserve to go out and celebrate your success, Andy. You deserve--" Lucien goes silent, glass suspended in air, motionless. "Merde," he says, almost under his breath.  
  
"What?" Andy says, confused.  
  
Jocelyn, who is seated across from Andy and next to Lucien, makes a rather amusing wide-eyed gesture that says it all. "Miranda's here," she whispers.   
  
The other half of the table turns to look over their shoulders. Nigel, who is sitting next to Andy, mumbles, "I'm in an alternate universe."  
  
"Um, hi Miranda," Andy says, standing up and moving forward. Her legs feel heavy and her body goes hot. Noise fills her ears until Miranda slides off her coat with an evil grin.   
  
"Hello, Andrea." She leans in and presses lingering kisses to both of Andy's cheeks. "You look wonderful." She eyes Andy's dress, and the look is possessive.   
  
"Thanks," Andy croaks. She remembers to look out for the waiter who is taking care of their table. Of course, he is already at Miranda's shoulder. "Please bring out the crostini, and the wine," she tells him, and he nods eagerly. "Thank you."   
  
A new place has already been set to Andy's right, along with a chair; Andy will be between Miranda and Nigel, which is probably a good thing for everyone. "Come, sit down,” she tells Miranda. To Andy's surprise, Miranda's hand creeps into her own, and their fingers tangle as they walk to the table.   
  
Twelve faces stare at the pair of them, and it's hard to gauge the reactions. No one really seems to know what's happening except Jocelyn, who stands up first. "Miranda, it's lovely to see you," she says with a genuine smile.   
  
"Thank you, Jocelyn." Miranda takes her hand, and her smile is warm and strangely caring. Andy thinks maybe now that they're inching out, it might be time to socialize a little more with Joss. She's proven herself, and Miranda has come to appreciate her talent and her discretion a great deal over the past few months.  
  
Jocelyn spurs the rest of the table into action, and everyone stands out of politeness. The less senior staff members of the group look slightly ill with anxiety, but the mean side of Andy enjoys this. As Miranda takes her seat, conversation dies. No one knows quite what to say, and they're all avoiding Miranda's gaze and staring at Andy. Once they sit, Nigel digs his elbow into Andy's side so hard that she yelps, covering it with an "Excuse me." A momentary distraction in the form of appetizers and wine arrive for Miranda. As they're presented, Nigel pinches Andy's arm. "Quit it," she hisses.  
  
"So, Miranda," Nigel drawls. "Someone ordered for you already?"  
  
"Mm," Miranda replies. "Andrea." She sips her wine and nods once at the waiter, who departs.  
  
"How... interesting. What are you having for dinner?"  
  
Miranda turns to Andy, her sly grin seemingly stuck in place. Though this embarrasses Andy, it's a major turn on. "I don't know, Andrea. What am I having for dinner?"  
  
"Um, the shrimp and mussels and scallops with capers and--"  
  
Nigel interrupts her. "I'd have thought you'd want the steak. Or at the very least, the veal. I understand it’s one of the specialties here."  
  
Andy wants to cut this conversation off right away, but Miranda simply leans forward and answers. "I had steak for lunch, of course, and I don't eat veal. I'm sure the shrimp will be delicious."  
  
"Don't eat veal?" Nigel frowns, and his humor barely masks irritation that has sprung up out of nowhere. "Since when? I thought you ate everything. Especially small, helpless animals."  
  
Miranda clears her throat, and the smile fades. "No. I no longer eat veal, or foie gras, for that matter. At Caroline's request. She's unhappy with the animal practices, so I decided it was easy enough to select other options."  
  
Nigel laughs at this, and it sounds harsh to Andy's ears. Things are derailing, quickly, but the wine has dulled her reaction time. "Goodness. What's next, no fur?"  
  
Andy bristles. She happens to know that Miranda started buying faux last year, also because of Caroline, but she hasn't told a soul. No one's noticed. She spends a great deal of money to wear what looks like the real thing. "Nigel, what are you having for dinner?" Andy interrupts. "The soup--"  
  
"I'm having the filet mignon. You can have a bite if you want, Miranda," Nigel says. "I know you have a taste for blood."  
  
Andy kicks him under the table, but his face never changes.   
  
"No thank you," Miranda replies smoothly. "What are you having, Andrea?"  
  
Andy swallows against a dry throat before she answers. "The salmon, with quinoa and spinach."  
  
"Delightful. I'll taste yours." With that, Miranda pops an artichoke crostini in her mouth and closes her eyes in delight. She hands one to Andy, who notices a slight hesitation in the motion. Instantly Andy knows that Miranda almost fed the thing to her by hand. The grin returns to Miranda's face, and she turns to Jocelyn. "Joss, how is little Harry these days? Isn't he almost five?"  
  
Jocelyn lights up, and she tells of Harry's latest exploits in pre-school, while Miranda coos and aws at all the right moments. The remaining guests at the table begin to calm, and the wine begins to flow once more. Nigel is the only one who stays on alert.  
  
As the evening progresses, the rest of the table indulges with the extra wine Miranda orders to share. Everyone is taken in by this friendlier, more sociable version of their boss. Andy is sure that now they see how easy it is to be drawn in by this charismatic woman who only grows more beautiful with age. It's unlikely that Miranda will skewer anyone with questions on job performance over dinner, and she is both pleasant and inquisitive. Andy enjoys observing Miranda as she turns on the high-wattage charm that has lured many a man (and woman) to their demise. However, she knows that Miranda only wants to have fun tonight, so there is no potential for trouble as long as no one insults any member of their little family unit.  
  
Nigel makes it halfway through his third martini when he finally asks, “Miranda, what are you doing here?”  
  
Miranda glances over, her gaze cool. “Having dinner. Celebrating Andrea’s promotion, as is everyone else here tonight.” She observes the many faces around the table. “Isn’t that why you’re here?”  
  
“Yes, of course, but…” Nigel begins, and Andy turns to watch him. She wonders, is he digging his own grave? “You don’t often make appearances at events like this.”  
  
Miranda chuckles and replies, “I consider this occasion a unique opportunity. And I’m enjoying myself thoroughly.” She leans over Andrea’s plate for the second time that night and steals a bite of salmon. “This really is very good.”  
  
“That’s the last of my dinner you’re sneaking, lady,” Andy states, moving her plate a few inches away from Miranda. “Next thing I know my plate will be empty.”  
  
“Oh, fine, have some shrimp.” Miranda sighs and leans away from her place setting just long enough for Andy to nab a bite, and their eyes meet as Andy pops the shrimp in her mouth. Andy can’t help but grin, chewing in what she’s sure is a most unattractive style. But Miranda’s eyes soften, and her mouth quirks up in an affectionate expression she doubts most people at Runway see, ever.   
  
Nigel shuts up after that, and once Andy starts quizzing Kenny on the various clubs he frequents, the conversation carries on. Once dessert arrives, they all split a few treats. Andy convinces Miranda to indulge in a few bites of chocolate mousse along with a small glass of port. Around this time the wine hits Andy, and it’s a challenge not to paw Miranda. Instead she just watches Miranda as she eats, ignoring the heat at the back of her neck.   
  
When the check arrives, Miranda holds out her hand.   
  
“No,” Andy pleads, “You don’t have to.”  
  
“No, I don’t.” She fishes her personal Visa card from a narrow wallet and slides it into the leather pouch for the waiter.  
  
“Huh,” Nigel harrumphs, while Lucien tries and fails to contribute his own funds to the coffers.   
  
“So, we still going out dancing, Andy?” Kenny asks, clearly eager to paint the town.  
  
“Well,” Andy says, reluctant. It’s late, and Miranda’s just sitting there looking delectable and available, and she’d really like to peel that jacket right off her shoulders—  
  
“Go,” Miranda tells her. “Enjoy yourself. But remember, everyone,” she adds, peering at her employees, “I’ll expect you in by 9 at the latest.”  
  
Andy doesn’t laugh, though she wants to. Runway’s regular, unofficial hours are 8 to 6, so 9 is actually a late start. “Okay,” Andy says, holding Miranda’s hand under the tablecloth. “Thanks.”  
  
“Excellent,” Kenny says, and he and Gemma exchange glances that Andy can’t quite interpret.  
  
Once the bill is paid, everyone stands to leave. Andy retrieves Miranda’s coat and helps her into it. Before she can stop herself, she wraps her arms around Miranda’s neck and holds her far closer than she ever has in public. “Think this will seal the deal?” she murmurs.  
  
Miranda’s hands slide up Andy’s back. “Perhaps.” Although Miranda is in heels, Andy’s still taller by a couple of inches. Andy can’t help but gaze into her eyes, until Miranda’s mouth presses against hers for a long moment. “That should do it.”  
  
Andy inhales, and tries not to lick her lips. “Probably. I’ll try not to be too late, okay?”   
  
Miranda glances over Andy’s shoulder, and tells her, “Don’t worry. I expect I’ll have company for a little while.” She steps away from Andy, looking not at all embarrassed for having just exchanged a kiss with her former assistant. “Nigel, would you care for a nightcap at the townhouse?”  
  
Nigel is watching them, and he’s a little green. Andy expects he might regret that last drink. “Sure. Uh, okay.”  
  
Lucien remains seated at the table—he and Jocelyn are in intense conversation. Andy ignores them and pulls on her long coat. “See you at home,” she says softly.   
  
“Mm,” Miranda says, touching her hand once before she and Nigel make their way out.  
  
The rest of the group crowds around Andy. “Did you just kiss Miranda?” Kenny demands. “What’s that about?” He seems more thrilled than anything. “Are you guys like, together?”  
  
“We are,” Andy says, and there’s a quiet gasp from at least a few of her co-workers. “Now that I’ve left Runway, we figured it was okay to tell people.”  
  
“Oh my fucking god,” Kenny crows. “Holy Jesus. This is news, girl! Gigantic, unbelievable news. For how long?”  
  
“A little while,” Andy hedges. No one needs to know all the details. “Not when I worked directly for her. That would have been too weird.” Not to mention insanely tense, considering how hot it had been between them at the start.   
  
“Girl, you’re gonna fit right in with us tonight. And here I thought all this time you were a little prude, going home to read your Jane Austen every night after work.”  
  
Andy skips telling him that she does enjoys Austen very much. She just keeps her well-thumbed copies of “Emma” and “Sense and Sensibility” on Miranda’s bedside table.  
  
\---  
  
Andy uses her regular back garden route to enter the house, staying quiet as usual. She’s tired from the early morning wake up call—was it 18 hours ago? It’s been one helluva long day, and an hour and a half of dancing has exhausted her. At least she stuck to drinking water at the club, so she’s sober when she hears Nigel’s voice float through the kitchen from the adjacent sitting room.  
  
“… Andy?”  
  
She opens her mouth to call out and say hi until she realizes that they mustn’t have heard her come in. Miranda’s mid-sentence when Andy decides that a little eavesdropping is in order. “Why not?” Miranda says.  
  
“That’s no answer, Miranda. We’ve been tiptoeing around the topic, but you asked me over, and I’d love to know what you’re thinking.”  
  
There’s a silence, and Andy pictures Miranda steeping her fingers together. “This isn’t new for me, Nigel. It’s been more than a year,” Miranda says, her voice even and firm.  
  
“You’re joking,” Nigel replies.  
  
“I am not. I’ll talk to you, but I won’t explain myself—I owe no one any ‘explanation’ as to why I’ve fallen in love.”  
  
“Are you sure it’s love?” Nigel asks.  
  
“Of course I’m sure. Very much so,” Miranda says.  
  
Nigel clucks his tongue. “Miranda, you’ve been in love many times before--”  
  
“That may be true, but there’s something about this that is entirely new.”  
  
There’s a chuckle from Nigel, and it almost sounds bitter. Andy doesn’t like it. “Other than the fact that she’s a woman, what, pray tell, might that be?”   
  
It doesn’t take long for Miranda to answer. “I have never once believed Andrea would be anything other than faithful to me.” There’s a pause, and Andy waits, thrilled by the admission. “When considering my two husbands, and each man before them—it was as if I inadvertently chose personalities so charismatic and ego-driven that I would never be enough. Or rather, that I’d be too much. Too career-obsessed, too busy, too  _good_ at everything that they’d always search for someone else to make them feel like they were better than I. Which,” Miranda says with a rueful laugh, “happened in almost every case. And I simply waited for it to end. Even with Stephen, who seemed so exactly my match at the beginning. He was… well, you know how that turned out.”   
  
“So the thing that makes Andy special is that she won’t cheat on you,” Nigel says.  
  
Andy imagines Miranda’s trademark eyeroll. “You’re missing the point. I don’t know whether she will or not. But I don’t expect her to. I’d actually be surprised, stunned even, if she strayed, or if she ever walked out on me. I truly believe that she loves me more than anything.” Andy listens, open-mouthed. “Do you know how  _intoxicating_  it is to feel the same way about her? I can tell you right now, Nigel, I wouldn’t walk away either. Not for all the money and power in the world. It’s been a revelation. It’s only a shame it took me fifty years to figure out that trust and love are not mutually exclusive.”  
  
Andy decides that this is her cue to leave and come back in, noisily this time. As much as she regrets eavesdropping, she also can’t stop smiling. She’s utterly silent as she moves through the kitchen, slipping out the back door. She waits in the alley for a few minutes, even though it’s cold, and decides that tonight, she’ll use the front door.   
  
She unlocks it and steps inside, a little nervous. She’ll have to get used to that sensation of visibility; the street is well-lit, as is the landing. With a shiver, she removes her coat and hangs it in the hall closet. “I’m home,” she calls out, not sure what sort of reception she’ll get.  
  
“In here,” Miranda replies, and Andy follows her voice. She is more hesitant than she’d like to be when she enters the room, until Miranda motions her to come close. “Hello, darling,” Miranda purrs, and Andy relaxes enough to perch above her on the arm of the sofa. She kisses the knuckles of Miranda’s outstretched hand.  
  
“Hi,” Andy says.  
  
“Did you enjoy yourself?”  
  
“I did,” Andy replies, her grin creeping back. “Kenny’s a little wild though, so I didn’t stay long.” She glances over at Nigel and smiles warily. “Hey, Nigel.”  
  
“Hi, Six.” He shakes his head. “You keep a good secret.”  
  
She shrugs. “When it’s worth my while.”  
  
He watches her, and Andy wonders if it’s suspicion or just plain curiosity in his eyes. She may never know. “I suppose that’s my cue to vamoose,” Nigel says, standing and leaving his glass on the side table.  
  
“I didn’t mean to interrupt--” Andy says.  
  
“You didn’t,” Nigel replies quickly. “It’s late, and some of us still have to work tomorrow.”  
  
“Indeed,” Miranda adds, standing and tugging Andy up with her. “I’ll see you in the morning.”  
  
They follow Nigel to the front door, and Andy tells herself that the silence is comfortable rather than awkward. “Thanks for coming to the party, Nigel,” Andy says as he pulls his coat from the closet.  
  
“Sure. I wouldn’t have missed it. I’ll probably see you soon, right?”  
  
Andy nods, and hugs him close. “Thanks for everything,” she whispers, hoping they’ll survive whatever rift opens between them.  
  
Nigel pats her back. It’s not a comfort, but it’s something. “Sure,” he repeats with a small chuckle. “Later.” He pulls away. “Good night, Miranda.”  
  
Miranda steps in and kisses him on both cheeks—a surprising gesture of friendship given the strange energy in the room. “Good night.”   
  
Nigel looks away from them and steps out into the chill, not looking back as he heads down the block.  
  
Andy locks the door and leans against it. Miranda looks at her carefully, and from that single look, Andy realizes she’s busted. “You might be able to keep secrets, but you’re not a very good spy,” Miranda says, but there’s no malice in it.  
  
Andy laughs. “Well, I didn’t hear much, and I didn’t want to make everything even weirder. Not that coming in the front door helped.”  
  
“It will take time for him to get used to the idea that he doesn’t know me as well as he thought.” Miranda takes her hand and leads her to the stairs. “And that he doesn’t know you either. I’m sure it seems like it was about pulling one over on him, rather than our own self-preservation.”  
  
Andy holds back the thought that if Nigel thinks that the relationship between them two of them has anything to do with him, he’s an idiot. It’s mean, and Nigel doesn’t deserve it. Miranda’s next words distract her from Nigel. “So now you know my secret,” she breathes as they come to the bedroom.  
  
“Hmm,” Andy replies, thinking back.  
  
Miranda closes the door behind them, and locks it. “That I adore you.” She unbuttons her top two buttons. “That I trust you.” More buttons follow, and Andy backs up toward the bed as Miranda stalks forward. “That I need you.”  
  
As Miranda falls on her, blouse fluttering in the cool air, Andy opens her arms. “Don’t worry. I can keep my mouth shut.”  
  
\---  
  
Two days after their outing, the only thing in the press is a pathetic blind item on a small gossip site. “A little bird told us he saw a presumably straight, female fashion icon in a clinch with a much younger female employee at Triomphe on Wednesday. No one else is talking. Is this news? We’ll keep you posted.”  
  
Is it possible that Miranda’s employees have suddenly decided that she deserves some modicum of loyalty? It figures that now that they want to go public, it doesn’t work. To get the ball rolling, they decide to have dinner at Le Bernardin on Friday night. Andy makes the reservation in Miranda’s name and requests a table by the window. It’s very central, and they’ll be seen by everyone in the place.  
  
That night, they both dress to the nines and order the tasting menu, with wine. It’s unabashedly romantic. They make no bones about their affection for one another, suddenly free of the fetters that have held them in check for so many months. It’s exhilarating to touch Miranda’s hand across the table, and Andy is stunned at how easily she breathes in this new era. When they’re finished, Miranda actually helps Andy on with her coat, and they leave the restaurant with hands clasped.  
  
The next day, no one says a word. Anywhere. There’s no photo of them strolling down 51st street, no mention of their little evening out in the paper, no description of their dinner in a blog.   
  
“Huh,” Andy says after a third google search at the kitchen table. “Maybe you’re old news.”  
  
Miranda throws a slice of orange at her.  
  
Monday morning, Andy starts work at Vanity Fair, and she doesn’t cause any waves. No one mentions Miranda until lunch, when she joins Anna at the café in the building. “So,” Anna starts out as she fishes through her salad for a cashew. “You and Miranda Priestly, huh?”  
  
Andy gapes at her. “How did you know?”  
  
Anna laughs. “We found out Thursday morning—someone called for a quote after they heard you were starting here this week. Graydon asked Col to quash it as a favor for Miranda—we have to keep the peace, don’t you know. When The Post killed the story, everybody else got spooked. So, you’re welcome.” Anna grins, looking pleased with herself.  
  
Andy closes her eyes. “We were trying to come out. I didn’t want it to be a secret when I started here. I hope this isn’t going to be some kind of conspiracy--”  
  
“Honey,” Anna says, “we don’t care who you’re with. I certainly don’t. I spoke to Lucien on Friday just to make sure everything was kosher, and he told me he was shocked when he found out about the two of you. He said Miranda never gave you special treatment, and that last year there was a rumor about you and Lucien that you summarily dismissed. I guess he found out about it later.”  
  
“Oh yeah,” Andy says. “That was… unfortunate. I felt terrible for him.”  
  
“You had bigger fish to fry,” Anna replies, with a twinkle in her eye. “And you are out. Everybody here knows. So don’t worry about it. And you’d better eat fast, because we have a meeting in fifteen minutes.”  
  
Andy glances at her watch, a gift given by Miranda just that morning. “Got it.”  
  
Later, Andy sends a quick text to Miranda, detailing this new information. She doesn’t receive a reply, and expends most of her focus on learning the ropes at her new position.  
  
She walks in the back door at 8 that night. Miranda is seated at the kitchen table, the computer in front of her, while James grates fresh cheese at the counter. Miranda glances over her shoulder and looks over the top of her glasses. “Andrea, it’s time you start using the front door.”  
  
Andy sighs. “You want me to leave and come back in?”  
  
Miranda shakes her head. “Tomorrow. Come and kiss me hello.”   
  
Andy does, and drops her laptop bag in the corner. “James, I can’t wait to know what’s for dinner.”  
  
“Pasta with sliced chicken and pesto.”  
  
Andy lets her head fall back. “God, I am spoiled. I’m starving.”  
  
“Don’t they let you out of your little cage for meals now and then?” Miranda asks.  
  
“I had lunch at noon, and didn’t have time to get a snack. I’m going to have to bring emergency rations to keep in my desk.”  
  
Miranda looks at her affectionately. “Some things never change.” She clicks the mouse on the computer once, then closes a window. “I spoke to Graydon tonight. Apparently he has something on either Col or one of the Murdoch kids, which is why we’re not all over the news right now. I admit I’m somewhat disappointed.”  
  
Andy smiles. “Over not knowing the dirt, or not being in the news?”  
  
“Both, I think. But it’s best for the girls, I suppose.”  
  
“Where are they?”  
  
“Upstairs, doing homework. Cassidy’s not speaking to me for some reason, I don’t know why,” Miranda sniffs.  
  
Andy gets up to check on the pasta, before James nudges her away from the pot of gently boiling water. “Probably because you made her change before school today.” Andy recalls quite clearly running out the door to avoid the impending storm of words between the two Priestlys that morning.   
  
“The blouse was not designed to be worn by an adolescent. It’s too sheer.”  
  
Andy agrees, mostly. Cassidy’s still thirteen. “What if she wore a tank top underneath?”  
  
“She wasn’t wearing a tank top underneath. Thus there was no discussion of that as an option.”  
  
“I’ll talk to her,” Andy offers. Miranda throws a threatening glance in her direction. “Or not.”  
  
After a moment, the lines across Miranda’s brows lessen, and her expression turns pensive. “It might be a good idea.”  
  
Andy gets stepped on by James as he brings the water to the sink to drain. “Ouch. Um, sorry.” She grabs a bottle of white from the wine refrigerator. “Want a glass?”  
  
“Please.”   
  
As Andy opens and pours the wine, James artfully arranges two meals on pristine white plates edged with gold. The counters are already clear, since James cleans as he cooks. He serves up their meal and departs only moments later, after Andy promises to take care of what’s left.   
  
“I think he has a date,” Miranda says. “He’s wearing cologne.”  
  
“Ooh,” Andy replies. “I’ll grill him tomorrow.”  
  
“Be subtle, darling. Just because he knows all our secrets doesn’t mean we get to know his.”  
  
Andy thinks that’s sweet, but she doesn’t say so. Instead she takes a bite, and marvels over the flavors of the meal, and the perfection of each of the elements. “Mmm.”  
  
Miranda nods. “How was your first day?”  
  
Andy considers it. “Busy, but good. I think I’m going to like it.”  
  
Miranda looks approving. “Lucien is already lost without you.”  
  
“Oh, he’ll be fine,” Andy says with a wave of her fork.   
  
“I wouldn’t be,” Miranda replies, and Andy catches the meaning in her gaze.  
  
“Well aren’t you lucky then that I’m not going anywhere.” Andy’s heart does a little leap in her chest as Miranda’s gaze softens even more.  
  
“I am,” Miranda says, and holds up her wine glass.  
  
Andy holds up her own, and when their glasses touch, the sound is pure and clear. “Me too,” Andy tells her, and smiles.

-the end


End file.
